


The World Is Not Enough

by FarAwayInWonderland



Series: The Mundane and The Warlock [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Cutting, High School, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Racism, Religious Conflict, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 106,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarAwayInWonderland/pseuds/FarAwayInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine was on the loose, he still had to patch up things with Clary and Magnus was besotten with a Shadowhunter. </p><p>Simon had no time for time travel (Pun intended). </p><p>Yet, here he was, 1953, on Mama Santiago´s couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arc I: Origines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There´s some talking to Luke, a candlestick that tries to assault Simon and the mysterious orb that starts the whole mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: This part of 'The Mundane and The Warlock' will have multiple chapters. Subscribe to get notifications for updates!
> 
> Say hello to me on [tumblr.](http://realmofheavenlykings.tumblr.com/)
> 
> So, we finally enter Saphael and Malec territory *rubs hands together in glee* This part will probably have three to five chapters as I have planned much to happen. Additionally, I want to kickstart Clary´s development into a BAMF, unlike her show counterpart. Simon´s absence will play a big part in that ^^

The Shadowhunters and their aides were content to let the three of them sit around in the hallway as they walked around busily.

“Clary´s gonna come around,” Magnus said. “She´s just overwhelmed and confused. She´s lashing out at you because you´re the only one she can lash out at.” Raphael grunted in agreement. Magnus’ words made Simon remember what the Warlock had said before.

“How do you know Jocelyn?” he asked.

“I helped her settle down here when she fled from Idris after the Uprising,” Magnus answered. “I swear; I didn’t know she had anything to do with your Clary.” For a short moment he debated if he should tell Simon the whole truth, but he decided against it. Simon had already so much to bear, he couldn’t put that additional burden upon him. But deep in his mind Magnus was afraid of what Simon would think of him if he knew that he had taken his best friend´s memories from her. He didn’t want to lose one of his best friends he had made over the last century and that was what stilled his tongue. But the other reasons where so much more comfortable to tell himself to than admitting this simple truth.

“It´s alright,” Simon replied with a faint smile on his lips. “You can´t know everything. There was this one time when Luke…” His eyes widened.

“Shit! I have to tell Luke,” Simon exclaimed.

“Why?” Raphael wanted to know.

“Because he´s the only one who doesn’t know about what happened to Joce and Clary,” Simon replied. “And he´s also someone who can easily set the whole NYPD on us, something we really don’t need right now.” Simon felt bad for having forgotten about Luke but the pace at which sudden revelations had taken place over the last day had pushed any thought about the other man to the back of his mind. “Besides, he deserves to know.

And,” Simon continued, faltering for a short moment. “Look around. Clary´s getting every possible attention from the Shadowhunters who refuse to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. There´s nothing for me to do here but to stand in the way.” He fidgeted with his hands. “I can at least tell Luke. Be useful and all that.”

“What will you tell him?” Magnus asked.

“I don’t know,” Simon shrugged. “Depends on the state I´m gonna find him in.” Magnus looked at him as if he was trying to pierce through Simon´s mind, getting to know his motivations. After a few seconds he just nodded.

“I´ll stay here,” the Warlock said. “Smoothing some ruffled feathers. Our appearance has the Shadowhunters in quite a stir. Like a stick to a hornet nest.” Simon didn’t point out that there was probably one person within the compound whose feathers Magnus wouldn’t mind ruffling, but the Warlock seemed to have read his thoughts for he bowed out of the hallway with a conspiratorial wink.

Simon just groaned. “He´s gonna get us all killed.”

“I don’t think so,” Raphael commented with his trademark smirk. “Magnus knows the benefits of discretion. I´d worry more about the object of his affections.” Simon just snorted. Alec had no chance standing against the hurricane that was coming his way.

“So, ready for a late night stroll to the police station?” Simon asked and turned to the vampire. “Luke´s probably still working on that demon killer case. The super intendant is riding the whole station asses that they finally get him some results.”

“I thought you´d never ask,” Raphael replied and somehow that made Simon´s cheeks burn. No time to think about that.

* * *

Simon liked the police headquarter Luke was working at. The wide and open architecture allowed light to flood everywhere (not that you could see it now during night, but Simon knew it) and made it look much more inviting than the dark and gloomy police station in Brooklyn he had been to once during career day (warlock apprentice hadn’t been a choice offered, so Simon had taken the next best).

Now already past midnight the whole compound laid deserted in front of them. Their steps echoed over the plaza and somehow Simon expected someone to notice them. This was New York, after all, but no night guard came out to shoo them away.

Simon led Raphael straight through the maze of hallways that made up most of the station. When they reached the stairwell that led down to the open-plan office where the officer´s desks where placed Simon noticed that the light at Luke´s desk was still on. Not unsurprising. What was surprising were the two persons – a man and a woman – standing in front of the desk in full leather gear which Simon by now was closely familiar with. He tugged Raphael down by his collar and both of them took cover behind the handrail.

“This could be all over if you just turn over the Mortal Cup,” the woman sneered at Luke who was still sitting in front of his desk, not a single twitch in his features as the two Circle members ganged up on him. Simon wanted to walk out of his cover and destroy them, but Raphael´s firm grasp on his shoulder kept him from doing it.

“That´s not gonna happen,” Luke replied. “After all these years, you´re still after it?”

“It´s not for us,” the man scoffed. “It´s for him. Valentine´s still alive. He´ll be pretty surprised to see that you are, too.”

“I won´t let Valentine create an army,” Luke spit out and inwardly Simon was cheering for the man, even though he was still pretty shaken up that Clary´s stepdad apparently was involved in the whole Shadow World as well. Was there no one who was what they appeared to be?

“You once believed in him,” the woman remarked and cold dread washed over Simon. That statement could only mean one thing. He could feel Raphael tensing up beside him as well.

“I believed in protecting humankind,” Luke replied. “A notion that Valentine seemed to have lost along the way. You´ll never get the Cup.” Thunder rumbled outside. Fitting, Simon supposed, for what was currently transpiring within the police station.

“You know,” the man began as if he and Luke were buddies idly chitchatting about the weather. “The minute we found out Jocelyn Fairchild was alive, you were easy to track.” Luke showed no sign of reaction, but Simon had known the man for years and so he noticed how his grip around the pen tightened and how his eyes zoned in on the other man.

“Turns out you and Jocelyn were never that far apart,” the man continued. Then he bent forward until his face was on the same level as Luke´s and Simon had to put real effort in understanding what the man was saying: “The Circle has her now. It´s just a matter of time until we catch the daughter.” 

“You can have them both if you give up the Mortal Cup,” the woman interjected, trying to sound reasonable, but miserably failing to hide her gleeful undertone.

“I don´t care about either of them,” Luke replied. “They mean nothing to me. Kill them both if you like. My people want the Cup, why do you think I´ve been hanging around here all these years? Now, when I find the Cup…I´m gonna keep it. And you can tell Valentine and the Circle that.”

In another universe, where Clary and not Simon would have listened to this exchange – compassionate, loving Clary who loved her mother so much that she was blinded to any logic by it, because love was not only a strength but also a weakness; who only saw the world in black and white ( _them, the bad against us, the good_ ) – hearing these words out of Luke´s mouth would have set her on a journey that would have ended in her slowly destroying those around her on her quest to save her mother (Jace a hostage of Valentine; Simon dying, becoming a vampire and being cast out because he chose her over himself every time again and again; a kill order placed on every Shadowhunter that dared to cross into Harlem and finally the Cup in Valentine´s grasp).

But Simon wasn’t Clary. He had threaded between the two worlds for nearly half his life. He had listened and observed Magnus in his role as High Warlock and he knew that between white and black wasn’t just a straight line, but a slow gradient of grey. Sometimes those advocating their causes forgot that the people between them were as three-dimensional as themselves, with their own hopes, fears and motivations. What appeared like betrayal to one was a well-reasoned decision to another.

So, did what Luke say affect Simon? Of course it did. Hearing a prominent figure in your life so callously disregard the lives of the other people you loved didn’t leave Simon unaffected. There was rage, hurt, betrayal cursing through his mind, but Simon owed it Luke to hear him out at least before he decided to strike him down.

 _Even the worst villain deserves the right to have his side of the story heard_ , Magnus had told him once, _because what would it make us if we were to deny them that? Just the villains on the other side._

“No one mentioned Valentine,” the male Circle member remarked.

“You didn’t have to,” Luke replied.

“Listen to me...” the man began, but faster than Simon could comprehend, Luke had seized the man´s collar and slammed his head against his desk.

“No, you listen to me,” he hissed over the man´s groans of pain. “Get out of my office!” The woman sent one last venomous glare at Luke before she picked up the man and escorted him out. Luke leaned back on his chair, let out a deep sigh and massaged his temple.

 _Now or never_ , Simon thought. Taking in a deep breath he stood up and walked down the stairs that were separating him and Luke. The latter´s head shot up and stared at Simon.

“Simon?” Luke croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to tell you about Jocelyn and Clary,” Simon remarked calmly, so different to the raging storm of emotion within him. “But you know already, do you?” He raised an eyebrow at him.

“Listen, Simon,” Luke began, “I don’t know how much you´ve heard, but there are some things you don’t know…” Simon could feel something moving beside him and somehow he knew that it was Raphael who had taken his place beside him. Luke´s jaw dropped.

“I think I know more than you think I do,” Simon replied. “For example, that you were a Circle member once and that you just told your former buddies that they could kill Joce and Clary for all you could care.” He levelled Luke with a glare.

The whole story came spilling over Luke´s lips. Of three friends – young, smart and terribly naïve when it came to the workings of the world around them – that thought that they could change the world for the better as they saw the institutions that they had been taught to honour slowly decay in arrogance, hubris and indifference. One friend lost himself to his hunger for power and his hate, another betrayed and left for dead and the last one caught between the man she loved and whose children she had born but who was slowly descending into madness and the other who helped her escape but not without cost.

“I had to say these things,” Luke defended himself. “It was the only way to make them back off.” Simon believed the man. The anguish in his eyes – the worry, the pain and the panic – was to raw, too earnest to be faked. He was on their side.

“So, Clary´s Valentine´s daughter?” Simon asked. Luke´s eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t mention it explicitly, but I´m not stupid. I can do the math.”

“Yes, she is,” Luke admitted.

“That´s gonna go over well with the Shadowhunters,” Raphael remarked and Simon could see Luke bristle at that.

“You don´t seem surprised by that,” Luke prodded carefully.

“Why should I be?” Simon shot back. “It doesn´t matter if Clary´s father is Valentine or Harry Styles –“ Luke frowned at that, because he was _a Dad_ like that “- because either way he was never in her life. It doesn’t change who she is. Clary is my best friend; not her father.”

“That´s very mature of you,” Luke remarked with pride in his voice. “But Simon, what are you doing here with…” His gaze flickered over to Raphael who was standing next to Simon like he belonged there.

“A vampire?” Simon finished the other man´s sentence. Luke just nodded. Now it was Simon´s turn to tell his story. Of five-years-old that yearned for magic and of centuries old warlock that yearned for compassion and of a vampire that fell somehow in-between.

“So you knew all along?” Luke asked for clarification.

“About the Shadow World? Yes,” Simon replied. “That you were a werewolf? No, I´m as surprised as you are.”

“You don’t look like it,” Luke commented.

“If I let every emotion I´ve experienced over the last hours show I would have fallen apart already,” Simon answered and it was true. He had no time for his emotion – that panic that one of his friends wouldn’t make it, the worry for his sister and mother, the fear that he was way in over his head. It would probably come back and bite him in the ass later, but _he just had no time_.

“I have to get back to the Institute,” Simon continued. “I have to tell the Shadowhunters.” He would phone Magnus on the way.

“I´ll go with you,” Raphael said.

“Me, too,” Luke exclaimed, eying Raphael suspiciously. Simon had to suppress the urge to just smack his head on the desk.

“Listen,” he began, “I have no time for your interspecies dick measuring contest.” Both of their faces distorted into grimaces at the thought of each other´s dicks. Simon sniggered. “But Valentine is on the loose again and you have to warn and prepare your people. I´ll manage the way to the Institute without you chaperoning me.” Twin looks of scepticism. “I do!” He sighed.

“You have responsibilities not only to me but also to your people,” Simon said and that seemed to pierce through their brains. Luke nodded.

“Don´t dare to let anything happen to you while I´m away,” Raphael said.

“I won´t,” Simon promised, the very picture of earnestness. Raphael just snorted. One last warning look at Luke and then the vampire vanished. Luke cleared his throat.

“I see,” he remarked.

“What?” Simon demanded to know. Luke just grinned.

“Oh,” he replied. “Nothing. Just nothing.”

* * *

“What´s this stuff?” Simon asked, pointing at the countless boxes that were scattered across the room. It looked like someone had robbed an antique shop and didn’t know what to do with all the useless clutter that they had taken with them.

“That,” Isabelle said as she appeared behind one of the wooden crates, “are all the things the Clave confiscated from Circle members after the Uprising. Or at least, it´s everything they´ve stored in this Institute.”

“Seeing as Valentine is back,” Alec chimed in from across the room where he was looking through some papers, “we thought it prudent to take a look at it.” Magnus, who was leaning on the doorframe, nodded.

“I told them everything you´ve told me,” he informed Simon.

“You think you can discover something that´ll help us?” Simon questioned, eying the boxes with renewed interest. He opened the one nearest to him and took out a rusty candlestick. “Maybe I can stab Valentine with that?” He took a few swings with it and yelped out loud when he bumped against another crate with his toe.

“Careful,” Magnus admonished him and pried the candlestick from Simon´s fingers. “Knowing you, you´d probably manage to seriously harm yourself with that dangerous contraception.” Simon just stuck out his tongue at the Warlock and went over to the next box.

“You never know,” Alec shrugged as he laid aside another paper. Simon desperately tried to not notice Magnus’ hungry stare which was directed at the Shadowhunter. Ugh, why had it to be brawns and brains? Magnus would be insufferable!

“Where´s blondie?” Simon wanted to know, finally noticing the absence of his least-liked Shadowhunter. He had an inkling, but he would rather have Alec´s or Isabelle´s confirmation.

“With you friend,” the female said and rolled her eyes. “He´s strangely obsessed with her. Like he´s thinking that just because he´s saved her life she´s his responsibility now.” Simon felt some strange kind of kinship with Isabelle in this moment, both equally annoyed and maybe a little bit amused at their respective best friend´s strange behaviour.

“He wouldn’t be the only one strangely obsessed,” Simon muttered under his breath as he watched Magnus strutting over to Alec like a cat that just found the canary. Isabelle let out a very unlady-like snort beside him.

“Where´s your vampire friend?” she asked, emphasizing the ‘friend’ like she waited for Simon to get something.

“Oh, he had some stuff to take care of with his Clan,” Simon answered, oblivious to Isabelle´s line of questioning. “He didn’t really want to, but you can´t shrink the responsibility of being second-in-command, I guess.” Isabelle just nodded.

Suddenly a stinging pain shot through Simon´s finger. He hissed in pain and retracted his hand.

“What´s with Shadowhunters and candlesticks?” he asked incredulously as he stared at the object of his ire. “Do you need it for, like, your satanic rituals or what?” He sucked at his finger, the metallic taste of blood suddenly exploding on his tongue. Alec shot him a dark glower and, okay, maybe accusing the people who literally had angel blood flowing through their veins of conducting satanic rituals wasn’t the most sensible thing to do, but he was Simon Lewis and not Mother Maria Theresa, dammit! Magnus at least sniggered at his comment which further cemented his role as Simon´s BBaWF (Best Badass Warlock Friend).

After the throbbing pain in his finger tip had abated, Simon continued to search through the boxes.

“What´s that?” he asked and held up an orb, comfortably fitting in the palm of his hand. It felt cold under his touch like it was made out of glass. Like a giant marble. It had a strange pattern within it, as if someone had captured black smoke within the glass.

“Nice decoration,” Simon joked. “It would look good in your lair, wouldn’t it?” He turned around to face Magnus. Simon was taken aback by the panicked look on his friend´s face.

“Simon, put that back!” Magnus shouted. Simon tried to let go off the orb, alarmed by the Warlock´s tone, but he just couldn’t let go. It was as if the orb had been dipped in super glue. And then, transfixed, he watched as one drop of blood poured out of his finger and landed on the orb´s surface.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening, the orb began to glow bright. The light engulfed him. The last thing Simon saw was Magnus desperately trying to reach him. Then everything vanished.

* * *

Izzy, Alec and Magnus just stared at the spot where the Mundane had vanished with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Izzy eloquently aired what each of them were thinking. And because one word wasn’t enough to describe the utter fucked up-ness of their situation she added: “Fuck!”

Alec didn’t say anything, but silently he agreed with his sister.

Magnus was frozen. In his mind, though, he wondered if this was the last time he had seen Simon. Because he, at least, knew what that orb had been.

* * *

Simon didn’t know what was happening.

He just knew that he was holding the strange orb that had started to glow the moment his blood had touched its surface. He was encased by a golden glow, vibrant strands of light that weaved themselves around him, building a capsule that transported him throughout the void that was surrounding him.

He saw worlds passing by. They appeared in front of him, out of the darkness, blue and green, passed him by and vanished again. Sometimes they were completely brown and grey, devoid of live, sometimes they glittered silver as every piece of them were covered in tall buildings ( _Like_ _Coruscant_ , his mind supplied), sometimes they were burning, orange bands of molten stone encompassing every continent. He flew near suns – red, orange, yellow, green, blue – and yet he didn’t burn. Didn’t feel the millions of degrees that exploded across their surfaces.

Suddenly the weight of the orb in his hand decreased. Simon looked down and panicked as he saw the marble slowly dissolving into thousands of glowing golden flakes. Like fireflies flying into the night sky, slowly fading away as their glow diminished the further the distance. Simon tried to catch them and put them back in their place, but they just passed through his skin as if he wasn’t even there – like he was just an intangible construct. And the orb continued to vanish.

The last flock was swallowed by the void. The light around him intensified and then – suddenly with one last shudder – it vanished.

Darkness closed in.

* * *

Simon woke up to feel grass underneath his finger tips and rays of sunlight caressing his face. He opened his eyes only to close them immediately after as the invading light made his head ache. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, he noticed. Blind as he had his eyes still closed he rolled over on his knees and let his hand roam over the patch of grass he was on. Maybe his glasses were lying around here somewhere?

Finally, he felt the metal holder of his glasses under his hand. Hastily he put his glasses on and opened his eyes. The ache in his head had abated and now the grass underneath him came into focus. Simon just kneeled there for a while, just breathing in and out, trying to get his erratic heartbeat under control.

When Simon no longer had the feeling that he would collapse the moment he looked at anything other than the relaxing green of the grass, he looked up.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

The football flying at him with alarming speed was the last thing Simon saw before darkness – again – settled upon him.

* * *

The next time Simon woke, feeling like his head had been split in two. He didn’t even try to open his eyes – too afraid that he would get sick – and just groaned. He was lying on something soft – cushy – and it felt damn awesome. Maybe the ball to his head had killed him and he was in Heaven now, lying on a comfy cloud?

Simon thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone – _something_ – shuffling around. Stricken by sudden panic, he flailed around in an attempt to force distance between him and whoever was there, but the only thing he managed was to fall from the couch with a loud thud. Simon couldn’t supress the groan of pain that made it pass his lips as pain in his back joined his headache.

“ _¡Madre mía!_ ” a female voice exclaimed. “Stupid boy! What were you thinking, moving so sudden?” Even though Simon still hadn’t opened his eyes (he was 99 percent sure that he would get sick on whoever was standing right in front of him) his cheeks reddened at this admonishment. The woman´s voice had such a motherly quality to it.

“ _Dios_ , let me help you,” the woman muttered and then Simon felt strong arms lifting him up and putting him back on the couch. “They really did quite a number on you, didn’t they? I always tell them to be more careful with that ball of theirs!” She continued in a litany of Spanish of which Simon couldn’t understand a single word but the occasional _‘idiotas’_.

After a while Simon felt like he wouldn’t die if he opened his eyes. Slowly he lifted his eyelids and allowed the outside impressions in. He was lying on a couch of the likes his grandmother had standing in her living room. Big, comfy and ready to swallow you whole if you weren’t careful enough. The wallpaper had some green pattern imprinted on it, the same mint colour as the carpet on the ground. There was a table in front of the couch, made of dark wood, with a white embroidery cover on its surface.

All in all, it totally looked like a 50ies nightmare, Simon thought.

He craned his neck and finally found the woman to which the voice that had been speaking to him belonged to. She was a rather petite thing, lean with only hints of curves hidden underneath the beige dress she wore. Her black hair gleamed underneath the sunlight that streamed in through the open windows. It was done in permanent waves and stood in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick on her lips.

The woman´s eyes were the colour of a warm brown, shining with warmth, compassion and hidden strength. Somehow these eyes reminded Simon of someone. Like he had seen them before already, on a different face maybe.

When the woman saw that he was staring at her, she smiled at him brightly.

“I´m so sorry,” she said. “My son and his friends brought you here after your little mishap. I had some stern talk with him and I´m sure the others will get one from their mothers as well.” She shook her head. “To think what could have happened.” She sighed and then put her smile back on her face. “Well, I´m glad you seemed to be doing okay. My _son_ –“ she raised her voice at that in a way only mothers could “- wants to apologize for his unthoughtfulness.”

Simon heard some shuffling behind the doorway and then the woman´s son stepped over the threshold.

His´s jaw dropped. Standing there – with normal teint, no shadows under his eyes and not a single ounce of gel in his hair, fidgeting nervously with his fingers and wearing dirty shorts and t-shirt – was Raphael.


	2. Arc I: Caedis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past!Magnus has a talk with Simon, present!Magnus with Alec, Clary gets her shit together and there´s a dead body. There are always dead bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 4k words of me more or less skillfully avoiding any mention of names, places, slang or anything else related to the 50ies US because I - as a 20yo German boy - have no clue about it :D

**1953**

* * *

The moment could have lasted forever or just for a split second, Simon wouldn’t have noticed. He could feel his heart beating, could hear the blood rushing through his veins, could see every little detail (the little scar on Raphael´s right kneecap, the dust particles that had got caught in his hair, the light reflecting from his brown eyes). He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the apparition in front of him that looked like his best friend but wasn’t him.

“Are you okay?” the figure that looked like Raphael asked. He sounded like him, too, but there was something in his voice that Raphael didn’t have. This innocence, this warmth and caring attitude. This couldn’t be Raphael. Raphael was colder; had been hardened by the world.

“Me?” Simon stammered. “Of course I´m okay? Why shouldn’t I be okay? Do I look not okay to you? It´s the glasses, isn´t it? I think they make my eyes look larger which triggers a protective instinct in other people as its mainly defenceless babies which have proportional bigger eyes in comparison to their head. But I can assure you I can totally defend myself…of course, you saw me being taken out by a football, which is totally a one-time occurrence. Usually I´m very defendable…which I think is the wrong word in this context…”

“ _Dios_ ,” Raphael and his mother said simultaneously.

“I think the hit to his head must have been worse than I assumed,” Miss Santiago muttered. “Maybe he has a concussion?”

“I don’t have a concussion!” Simon protested. “Look, I can walk in a straight line.” He leaped up, wobbled a little bit, but managed to walk a straight line through the Santiago´s living room under the very sceptical twin gazes of both Raphael and his mother.

“Maybe he´s always like that?” Raphael remarked. Miss Santiago´s lips thinned.

“What´s your name, dear?” she asked.

“Simon,” Simon answered. “Simon Lewis. Could you tell me the date?” He had a strange sense of foreboding. A hunch what could have happened and he prayed to every deity he knew that he was wrong.

 “It´s Friday,” Raphael replied. Simon huffed nervously.

“I mean the whole date.” Both Raphael and Miss Santiago shot him confused looks.

“Friday, May 25th, 1953,” Miss Santiago replied and cold dread washed over Simon. He sat down on the nearest chair, too afraid that his legs would give up under him. _1953_. The date echoed through his head, mocking him. The orb had transported him 60 years into the past, right into the lap of a still human Raphael. He was alone – utterly alone. There was no one here who knew Simon. His parents weren’t even born yet and his grandparents had been in the US for a little over a decade.

How should he get back? All-encompassing fear took hold over him. Simon felt as if he was drowning, his mouth trying to form words, but no sound was forthcoming. No human could possibly understand the utter loneliness Simon was experiencing. He had been cut off from everyone he loved. If he just disappeared there would be no one who would miss him. He would just fade away, maybe a small memory in the minds of Miss Santiago and Raphael that they would forget as time passed.

“Simon?” Miss Santiago interrupted his train wreck of a mind. “Is there anyone we should contact?”

 _I need a story_ , Simon thought. He couldn’t tell them where he had come from. Then it came to him like Revelation to the Apostles.

“My mother sent me here to live with my uncle,” he spoke, glad that he managed to keep his voice calm and steady. It wouldn’t do him any good if it failed him in this crucial moment. “My dad…he died in the war and she thought my uncle could offer me better prospects than she in our little Mid-Western town.” He managed to pull his features in a shaky smile which just seemed to melt Miss Santiago.

“A very reasonable woman,” she remarked. “Where does this uncle of yours live?” Simon told her the address.

“Well, that´s nearly on the other side of the city,” she frowned. “I cannot let you go there in good conscience.” Simon opened his mouth to protest, but Miss Santiago was already continuing. “Raphael will accompany you. He knows the streets around here like the back of his hand.” Raphael definitely didn’t look very enthused about the idea and was about to protest but a sharp look from his mother cut him off.

“Alright,” the boy mumbled. “Let´s go.”

“Bye, Simon!” Miss Santiago called after them. Simon didn’t know why, but he liked the woman.

* * *

The whole way to what Simon hoped was already Magnus’ lair he could feel Raphael´s gaze on his back. He tried to not have it affect him, but he just couldn’t prevent the shivers that run down his back whenever he thought about the other boy.

 _He´s gonna be turned into a vampire_ , he thought and stopped for a moment, so that the other boy could catch up with him. Rationally Simon knew that, but he just couldn’t connect the Raphael who was walking beside him with the slightly brown tan, the unruly hair, the warm eyes and still wearing his sport clotes with his Raphael from the future with his pale porcelain skin, the gelled-back hair and the cold eyes that only showed warmth in his most unguarded moments.

It was so strange; so disconnecting.

“Your uncle lives here?” Raphael asked and tore Simon out of his thoughts. Simon looked at the other boy and saw a sceptical look on his face. Simon couldn’t fault him for it, really. They were in a posher area of New York and already the passers-by were sending them strange – if not outright hostile – glares. Simon had to remember that this were the 50ies; Raphael was Hispanic and he himself wore clothes that probably appeared pretty strange to the people here. He should speed this whole thing up.

“Yeah,” Simon shrugged. Finally, he found the building where Magnus’ lair should be and led Raphael towards one of its side doors.

 _Please be there, please be there_ , he chanted in his mind as he knocked at the door in the pattern Magnus’ had taught ( _will teach him?_ Simon was confused).

“My uncle´s a little bit eccentric,” Simon explained when he saw Raphael´s raised eyebrows. “Paranoia and etc.” Raphael took the explanation, but his expression didn’t change much. Then before either of them could utter another word, the door opened and with his usual flair for dramatics Magnus stepped out.

“Who dares to disturb my peace?” he bellowed and _yep_ , that was Magnus.

“Hi, Uncle Magnus,” Simon started hesitantly, “it´s me, Simon. Mother told you that I was coming, didn’t she?” _Please, play along_ , Simon pleaded in his mind, _please, at least until Raphael´s gone_. He projected it with all his power towards Magnus, even though the Warlock had always claimed that he couldn’t read mind, but trying never hurt, did it?

“Ah, yes, Simon,” Magnus replied, to the observer looking like he knew what he was talking about, but Simon knew the Warlock long enough to recognize his ‘what´s this crazy?’ expression. “Of course, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Are you kidding me?” Raphael interrupted them. “That clearly isn’t your uncle. For once, he´s Chinese and you are…well, not.”

“I´m of Indonesian descent, you uncultured American,” Magnus snapped at Raphael who flinched back from the annoyed Warlock. “And family is more than blood, anyway. Simon´s mother and I have been best friends since High School. There´s no other person but me to whom she would entrust Simon.” He levelled a stare at both of them. “Say your goodbyes and then come in.” Without bothering to wait for their replies, Magnus turned around and walked back into the house, leaving Simon and Raphael standing in front of the door with the latter´s mouth wide open.

“You didn’t exaggerate when you told me he´s eccentric,” Raphael remarked.

“Well, that´s Uncle Magnus for you,” Simon replied, scratching his neck. “Thanks for bringing me here, I guess?”

“Take care,” Raphael said. “Maybe we´ll see each other around?”

“Yeah.” Simon really doubted that. Raphael´s home was nearly an hour walk away. “Tell you mother again how thankful I am for her help.”

“I will,” Raphael smiled. He waved one last time and then he was already around the corner. Simon let out the breath he was holding. Turning around he entered Magnus lair. Somehow it was comforting, calming down Simon´s frayed nerves. The familiarity of the longwinded hallways, the paintings depicturing scenes from the Shadow World´s history and even the smell of old books, herbs and other unidentifiable substances that would still be the same in the future.

“So,” came Magnus’ voice from beside him and the Warlock stepped out of the shadows. “Follow me, please.” Without waiting for Simon to react he stalked forward and led him into the one room Simon knew Magnus always received his petitioners. It was the same room where he had first meet Raphael… _and Camille_. Simon grimaced.

Magnus flopped down on one of the couches and Simon followed suit.

“Now, I´m not averse to a little bit of role play every now and then,” Magnus began. Simon didn’t react to his innuendo. Maybe it was scandalous in the 50ies, but he had heard – and said – much worse in the 21st century. “But I´d like to have an explanation why I had to impersonate your uncle.” He levelled Simon with a questioning stare, which despite the glitter in his face, managed to look quite serious.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I´m from the future and that we actually know each other?” Simon rattled out, nervously wringing his hands.

“Do you have any proof?” Magnus questioned him.

“You aren’t really that old,” Simon got started. “You never knew Socrates or slept with DaVinci or Michelangelo, because you were born in 16th century Batavia. Your mother hung herself in a shed and your step-father attempted to drown you; you killed him in self-defence and still blame yourself for your mother´s death. Even though you claim to have sworn off love you still have the necklace that your first lover gifted you in a box in a hidden compartment of your desk…” He wanted to continue, but suddenly his voice was gone. He looked at Magnus, who had held up his hand, blue mist floating above his fingertips with an undiscernible expression on his face.

“I´ve never told anyone of this,” he contemplated. “It certainly lends credence to your claim. Tell me how you came to be here.” And so Simon did – from the very start until the moment he had touched the black orb that had brought him here.

For a while there was nothing but silence after Simon had ended his tale, both he and Magnus contemplating what he just told.

“I cannot tell you what this ‘orb’ you describe is,” Magnus said. “But I can definitely send out some covert inquiries. We may need it to send you back.”

“So, you´re gonna help me?” Simon asked, his relief palpable. He didn’t need to go through all of this alone. Magnus would help him and with the Warlock on his side his chances of success had soared high.

“Of course,” Magnus replied. “What kind of person would I be if I sent you out of here without means to support yourself. But –“ he held up his hand “- you´re gonna make yourself useful around here.” Simon nodded frantically. “My library needs sorting.” Simon flopped back and groaned.

“I already did that,” he complained.

“You mean you will do it in a few decades,” Magnus corrected him. “But that chaos needs order right now.” Simon could swear that the Warlock was doing this purposefully to annoy him, but honestly, Simon would lick the ground clean if it meant that he didn’t need to face this unknown world that was waiting for him outside on his own.

* * *

**Present**

* * *

Clary was bored.

Nearly two days had passed since she had been attacked. By a demon. She still had problems warping her mind around that. But the proof that she had been presented with – the runes, the insistent whispering in her mind that there was more, the Institute – was undeniable and now she found herself in a complete new world that she had apparently always been a part of.

 _Shadowhunter_. That was what she was, according to what Jace had been telling her. He seemed to be proud of that fact, like his whole self could be described by just this small word. Maybe it could; Clary wouldn’t know. She had never identified with a cause. Simon would have some choice word about indoctrination and sects.

 _Simon_. A sharp pain shot through her as she thought of her best friend who had betrayed her so much. Clary couldn’t really describe the emotions that had cursed through her as she had found out that Simon had always known. All this time. Even as her whole world had crumbled down, she had clung to the fact that she still had her best friend at her side who would take her by her hand and lead her across the street and discover this new world with her, with its strange rules, traditions and people.

And then she had learned that Simon had crossed the street years ago already. Even worse, he had never even tried to tell her.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Can I come in?” It was the voice of the black haired girl. Isabelle ‘Call me Izzy’ she had introduced herself to Clary when she had woken for the first time and Clary wouldn’t deny that she had been awed by the immaculate girl that could have stepped straight out of the Vogue.

“Yes,” Clary croaked. She already felt inadequate, probably looking like she hadn’t slept for days straight with big shadows under her eyes and her hair a mess. Isabelle on the other hand looked as put-together as always, not a single strand of hair out of place, her leather clothing looking like it had been sewn onto her body.

“How are you?” Isabelle asked with a kind smile on her face.

“I´m feeling fine,” Clary replied. “I´d just like to get out of bed.”

“You are allowed when you can stand on your own,” Isabelle said and Clary winced when she remembered the first time she had tried to leave the bed only for her legs to give away under her. Jace had to pick her up from the ground and put her back, a memory that still managed to heat up Clary´s cheeks.

“Clary,” Isabelle said and the smile fell from her face. “There´s something you need to know.”

“What?” Hadn´t there be enough revelations dumped on her over the last few days? What else could there be to make her world come undone completely?

“It´s about your friend, Simon,” Isabelle continued. “We were going through some stuff here in the Institute and he touched something…we don’t know what it was, we´re still trying to figure it out…but it did something to him. He…he vanished and we don’t know where to.” She stared solemnly at Clary.

Clary didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything.

“What do you mean ‘he vanished’?” she asked weakly.

“Like I said,” Isabelle explained. “He touched something and the next moment there was this white light and he vanished.” Obviously sensing Clary´s distress she continued. “We´re already trying everything to get him back. Magnus Bane – he´s the High Warlock of Brooklyn – has working all his contacts on it.”

“But you can´t guarantee that he´ll come back?” Cleary whispered and the Isabelle´s non-answer was reply enough. Suddenly the fight she had with Simon seemed so childish and petty. Simon was gone – _vanished_ – and she had been lying her, wallowing in self-pity and condemning him for keeping a secret from her while she should have rallied to him instead; the only person she could trust unconditionally.

She felt small and lost and fragile and she just needed her best friend by her side whom she had cast out in a fit of childish rage. If – _no when,_ it would be when, because Simon was a fighter and he would come back because he hadn´t yet seen CA: Civil War with her and he had been hyped on that movie for ages – she would apologize to him and beg him for forgiveness.

But until then she had to find her place in this world. She couldn’t be the girl who knew nothing, who trampled over rules and traditions, not when everyone around her already knew the ways of that world. She wouldn’t be the stupid damsel in distress that weighted down the ones that did the real work. No, she would be more than that.

Yet, right now Clary would just lay back and let the fear for Simon and her mother consume her, because after everything that happened she just wasn’t strong enough to fight against it. Right now she would be weak and later…later on she had to be strong again.

“We´ll get him back,” Isabelle assured her.

“How can you be so sure?” Clary asked, her voice small and frail.

“Because you haven’t seen the lengths to which Magnus Bane would go for what he considers his friends,” Isabelle answered. “There are stories – tales – out there about that which rival every fairy tale you know.” And somehow that knowledge combined with Isabelle´s assurance managed to calm Clary down a little bit.

* * *

Alec knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again and – again – there was nothing. Carefully he pressed his hand against the rough wood and pushed the door open slowly, always expecting it to be shut right in front of his face.

“Bane?” he shouted into the room that they had given the Warlock so that he could work on a strategy to get his mundane friend back. He hadn’t left the room ever since. Alec had been told – or rather Isabelle had rounded him up and ordered him to go, because ‘there were already enough emotionally challenged people in the Institute without a manically working Warlock and a near-hysterical Shadowhunter girl adding to it’ – and because Alec respected ( _feared_ ) his sister he did what he was told.

Alec stepped further into the room, faint light flooding in through the windows, illuminating the books, scrolls and loose pieces of parchment and paper that were strewn over every surface – even on the ground itself.

And amidst the whole chaos was Bane, sitting at one table, bend over some book in a language Alec didn’t know, his eyes frantically scanning the pages, looking like he hadn’t slept for days – which he probably hadn’t.

“Bane?” Alec repeated. His words finally managed to startle the Warlock enough that he looked up from his book at Alec.

“Archerboy,” Bane tried to be flirty, but his voice just came over as tired and weary, failing to make Alec blush like it usual did. “What do I owe the honour of your presence?”

“You haven’t slept since your friend vanished, have you?” Alec asked.

“Sleep is for the weak,” Magnus replied, trying to put up a brave front. But Alec knew all about that – about pretending, putting up facades; about smiling while you crumbled within – and so he didn’t buy it for even a split second.

“Do you really think that you´re of any use to your friend, sleep-deprived and edgy?” he remarked. He could practically watch as Bane´s front crumbled; his expression falling, a bone deep tiredness flooding his eyes, the energetic aura that usually surrounded the Warlock completely lacking.

“I won´t be of any use sleeping either,” Bane snapped at him.

“You definitely would be of more use well-rested,” Alec disagreed with him. “What if you overlook something of importance because you were too tired? What if you´re too exhausted when the time to act finally comes? Could you forgive yourself then?”

“No,” Bane muttered. “But what kind of friend would I be, sleeping and frolicking while Simon is God knows where?”

“A good one,” Alec answered without hesitation. “One who does everything in his power to help said friend in need. One who knows which battles to fight and when to rest. A true friend.”

“You truly think so?” Bane asked, astonished. Alec nodded.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Maybe I can lie down for a bit,” Magnus mused. “Thank you, Archerboy.” The flirty undertone was back again and this time Alec blushed.

“You can call me Alec,” he mumbled.

“Then you have to call me Magnus,” the Warlock replied. “And I think I know what it was that Simon touched.”

* * *

**1953**

* * *

The streets of the neighbourhood laid deserted in front of him, only the few streetlights offering a small amount of light as he made his way towards home. Usually, Ricky quite liked being the only one being out after he and his friends went home their separate ways. He liked how serene and peaceful the city appeared to be when he walked the streets with nothing but some stray cats crossing his way every now and then and the moon shining from a cloudless sky.

Today it was different though. First, Raphael had shot another boy unconscious with their football. Ricky still remembered the few moments of abject fear they all had felt when they thought they had killed another boy during their game. A white, from the looks of his clothes well-off, boy accidently killed by a group of Hispanic and black boys. Ricky still shuddered when he thought about it. The relief had been palpable when Raphael had announced that the boy was still breathing and had subsequently taken the prone figure home.

And now, instead of soaking in the serenity and peacefulness like he usually did, Ricky hastened along the streets, the hairs on his back standing up as he tried to reach his home as fast as possible. Somehow, it was like everything around him – like the very night itself – was shrouded in an aura of malignity. Even the few cats that he came across watched him with viciousness in their eyes.

He was probably just imagining things, Ricky supposed, but no matter how much he tried to explain away that clammy feeling that had taken hold of him, he couldn’t just quite shake it off. He had to think about Grammy and her stories. Cruel, dark stories from when their family had still resided in New Orleans where Voodoo and other magicks still were practiced.

But they were in New York, the city of light, enlightenment and science, not some swamps on the other side of the country as Ricky´s mother liked to point out whenever his Grammy started with her stories.

A cat meowed. Another. A sick and pathetic sound that echoed between the houses. It made Ricky shudder.

“Is there someone?” Ricky shouted and he could have slapped himself for giving in to his frayed nerves and actually shouting that out loud. Breaking into a faster sprint he desperately prayed that he would reach his home in one piece.

He could already see the flickering streetlight that marked the street their house stood. Only a few meters left then he would be safe from the night.

“What does a young boy like you do out at a late time like this?” a voice purred from behind him. Ricky nearly fell over, so fast he turned around. “Haven´t your parents told you how dangerous it is for children to be outside at night? All the dangerous creatures lurking in the darkness.” Ricky opened his mouth to scream, but then the shape was already upon him.

The last thing he felt was an explosion of pain and ecstasy before he knew no more.

  
The neighbours would find Ricky´s body surrounded by cats, licking up what little amount of blood had been splattered on the ground around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already know the title of the last chapter, which will be 'I loved and I loved and I lost you'. No major character death, don´t worry (I need every one of them), but I try to make it as sad as possible and if you´ve read one of my many MCD stories you know that I´m quite capable at that lol


	3. Arc I: Scola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael receives revelation (so does Magnus) and Simon has to go back to High School, which makes him seriously consider just stabbing himself to death with a spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m sorry, I just couldn´t resist the lure of High School AU. I´m trash and I´m proud of it. But it is also needed to make headway for Saphael, so there´s this. Let it be known that the author has - like with so many other subjects mentioned in this fic - no fuckin' clue and just writes like he has read it in other fics and seen in trashy teen movies. 
> 
> Maybe next time I shouldn´t write a fic where I have no knowledge about 90% of the shit I´m actually writing about? Maybe ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Btw, [this](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm3062751488/nm1807350?ref_=nmmi_mi_all_pbl_7) is how I imagine past!Raphael to look like.

**Present**

* * *

“We have confirmation that Valentine is back again and trying to continue where he left off,” Raphael said without much preamble as he entered the room in which Camille usually held court. Camille looked up from where she was lounging on the couch and for one moment Raphael saw fear flashing through her dark eyes before it vanished again, being replaced by Camille´s usual veneer of haughtiness and disdain.

But Raphael knew that the news had frightened her, as it rightfully should. Even Camille with her centuries worth of experience and power had had little hope of persisting against Valentine and his fanatical hordes during the Uprising. Both of them remembered well the all-pervading fear of that time, when you didn’t know if the vampires you sent out would ever come back and where you hadn’t been able to feel save even in your own four walls. Like pigs waiting for slaughter. Raphael had hated and feared it and he knew that Camille had hated and feared it even more.

Being powerless after centuries of being on top had been especially humiliating for her.  

“Do you?” Camille replied. Raphael told her of the intelligence he had gathered, leaving out everything Camille didn’t need to know ( _Simon, Magnus, Shadowhunters_ ). The female vampire was quite for a while after he had finished.

Raphael didn’t even want to be here, though. He was needed elsewhere, with Simon and Magnus and even those stupid, arrogant Shadowhunters – _but mainly Simon because he needed protection; he was such a klutz, what if he fell down the sidewalk and broke his ankle_ – but Simon had spoken true when he said that the Downworlders needed to be informed of the new dangers.

The Shadowhunters would have never deigned to give them an advanced warning. They hadn’t when Valentine and his followers had risen for the first time. It had needed a copious amount of dead vampires, werewolves and faerie before the Clave admitted that one of theirs had slipped their control. Now, with most of them even denying that Valentine had survived no one would have warned the Downworlders. They wouldn’t have been bothered.

 _Simon bothered_ , Raphael thought. Simon had thought about what the return of a man that he only knew of from stories would mean for them. He hadn’t thought about Shadowhunters and what Valentine´s return would mean for their precious Accords and the power balance between the old pureblooded families; no, his thoughts had been for the lowly Downworlders. Raphael would remember that.

“So, your little preoccupation with the Mundane did yield results in the end,” Camille remarked smugly. Raphael grinded his teeth but didn’t reply anything. It was what Camille wanted. She always wanted to get a rise out of him. “You´re right in the middle of what is going to be the next big storm on the horizon.” Her grin grew wider. “You are going to be a hero, fighting Valentine and generally being right in the middle of the action…and the information.”

“Heroes die in songs,” Raphael remarked.

“Quite a shame,” Camille replied unmoved. And Raphael understood, he truly did. Camille finally made her move, her coup d’état: He would stay at Simon and Magnus` side – there was no question about them, what kind of friend would you be if you weren’t willing to die for them? – would receive the same information they and the Shadowhunters did and he would deliver it to Camille. And one way or another, he would find death in this war, either at the hands of Valentine or at Camille´s.

But in her hubris Camille had overlooked one thing: Raphael wasn’t willing to die yet and certainly not for her machinations. As Camille moved further towards her goal of finally getting rid of him so was he. Raphael had Magnus firmly in his corner now and if he managed to get into the Shadowhunters’ good graces they would probably be more than willing to look in a different direction when he was making his moves for Camille´s position.

The race was open now and Raphael was going to make sure that he would be the one to reach the finishing line first.

“I see,” was his only comment.

“Close the door after you´ve let yourself out,” Camille ordered casually. Raphael took extra care to slam he doors shut as loud as possible.

No one ever said that he wasn’t a vindictive bastard.

As he made his way through the hotel complex towards his room there were only a few members of the clan that crossed his way. They averted their gazes whenever they noticed him. They knew what he thought of them – _weak, pathetic, spineless, cowards_ – for giving in to the drugs, blood and phantasies Camille offered them. There were only a few of them that he could tolerate.

Finally, he reached the door to his room and entered the only refuge in this world that was only his. Not even Camille entered his room which had more to do with the fact that she would rather send for him than bother with walking up the three floors. And any other clan member had been dissuaded by the fate the last vampire that dared to enter his room uninvited had suffered. This room was his and it would always be.

There was his coffin – the one his mother had buried him in – black with white inlay, a golden cross on its lid. Raphael´s hand automatically moved to the rosary around his neck, the fizzling and smell of burning flesh automatically filling his ears and nose. It hurt, but it reminded Raphael of being human. Of sun, laughter and carelessness. It must have been his mother´s last gift to him, for he had woken up with it around his neck after he had turned.

His mother had probably thought that he would need the rosary in Heaven.

Raphael snorted.

He was getting sentimental again. It was a stupid notion that always came over him whenever he was in his room, when he had the time to think and contemplate. He pushed the rosary back under his shirt, the pain becoming more bearable.

_The sun was shining. It hadn’t rained for days._

Raphael blinked, the sudden images vanishing.

_Ricky had gotten a new football from his estranged rich aunt. She would always send him and his brothers gifts but never more. He had invited Raphael and his friends to test it out on a nearby field, one of the few that still existed in their neighbourhood. There was already talk about an investor trying to snatch it up and turn it into an apartment complex._

Raphael staggered and barely managed to keep himself up by resting his body against the wall.

_“Over here!” Andrew shouted and waved with his arms. Raphael wasn’t even thinking about passing the ball to him. He´d shot that goal by himself! There was no one between him and the goal but Ricky and Raphael knew that the boy´s eyesight on the right eye wasn’t as good as on the other. He could use that weakness._

Pain bored itself into Raphael´s head. He gasped and if he was still human he would have panted for air, desperate for it to fill his lungs.

_The ball was soaring. Raptured Raphael watched it flying towards the goal, going faster and faster. But he had miscalculated. Too much power in his kick, the wrong angle; right over the goal it flew. Raphael followed the ball´s path with disappointment and then with sudden fear as he noticed a boy sitting up on the edge of the field._

_“Watch out!” he shouted, but it was to no avail. The ball crashed against the boy´s head and he went down._

Something warm was trickling down Raphael´s nose. Without thinking Raphael´s hand went up to swipe the liquid away. When he looked down on his fingers they were red from his blood. His eyes widened. That couldn’t be! That shouldn’t be!

_“Is he dead?” Ricky asked with trepidation in his voice._

_“Shit, shit shit!” Diego cursed. “The white hoods are gonna hang us for that! Grammy says they´re around again.”_

_“Cool it,” Raphael snapped at his friends. “Your Grammy also thinks that old Gerard from across the street is Hitler which the Allies helped to hide in exchange for Germany´s capitulation.” He went down on his knees and held his hand in front of the boy´s face._

_“He´s still breathing,” he stated and a collective breath of relief went through the group of boys._

_“What are we gonna do with him?” Andrew asked. “Should we call an ambulance?”_

_“No!” Diego exclaimed. “They´re just gonna call the cops on us. He´ll probably wake up soon, anyway.”_

_“I´ll take him,” Raphael interceded. “My mom´s a nurse and she´ll know if we should take him to a hospital.” He pointed at Diego. “Di, you´re gonna help me carry him.”_

_Together they heaved the boy and started their track towards Raphael´s house._

Raphael opened his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed that he had fallen on the ground, so prominent were the pictures in front of his mind. Slowly he picked himself up. The whole room was oscillating in front of his eyes.

Why was Simon suddenly in his memories? Raphael asked himself. Why did he remember Simon in 1953? But when he tried to let the memories of what truly had transpired surface there was nothing his mind could grasp. There was only this version of events, and yet he couldn’t remember Simon past delivering the boy to Magnus, whom he had claimed as his uncle. Afterwards there was no mention of Simon in the rest of his memories.

Something must have occurred. Something to which Magnus probably held the answers to.

Raphael wanted to set off and confront the Warlock, but the sun would be rising soon. There was no time left, not if he didn’t want to burnt to ashes by the yellow orb in the sky. He would have to wait.

Until then Raphael would have to let the worry and anxiety gnaw on him.

* * *

Magnus opened his eyes and saw a worried looking Alec looking down on him.

“What happened?” he croaked, his throat completely dry. “And why am I lying on the ground?”

“You suddenly broke down,” Alec told him. He offered his arm to the Warlock and Magnus gladly took it and let the Shadowhunter help him up. “I don´t really know what happened.”

“I remember,” Magnus spoke. “Or rather, I remember anew.” Alec send him a quizzical look.

“I know where Simon is,” Magnus explained. “Or, to paraphrase it better, I know _when_ he is.”

“Time travel?” Alec asked, his eyes blown wide in surprise. “But that´s…that´s impossible!”

“Apparently it isn’t,” Magnus smirked. “If Simon appearing in front of my door in 1953 is any indication to go by.”

“You said that you know what that orb was,” Alec reminded him. “It was the last thing you said before you broke down.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Magnus mused. “Maybe I worded it wrong: I remember knowing what it is, but I don’t have the knowledge itself.” Alec scrunched up his nose in confusion and if Magnus wasn’t so exhausted he would have cooed at the cuteness of it all.

“How is that possible?” Alec asked.

“You could view Simon´s appearance in the past as the single stone that starts the avalanche,” Magnus started to explain. “The more time passes the bigger the changes become. In this _new_ past I agreed to help him find his way back. Over the course of this investigation I´ll probably find out what this orb was, thus providing me with that knowledge in the present.”

“But because it didn’t happen yet in this new past but it did happen from our future point of view you only know that you will know,” Alec finished for him.

“Exactly,” Magnus exclaimed. Intelligence and good looks, Alec was just made for him, wasn’t he?

“It wasn’t a difficult conclusion to arrive at,” Alec mumbled, scratching the back of his head. Magnus didn’t say anything. He knew that taking compliments for something you were always being told wasn’t your strength was difficult. He would break Alec of that habit.

Magnus yawned. He would do that later.

* * *

  **1953**

* * *

Simon would have liked being able to say that him waking up happened gradually while the sun slowly filtered through the blinds and the birds started chirping outside. The latter didn’t happen because this was New York City and the only chirping happening here were the car engines that drove by outside. The former didn’t happen because at the godforsaken hour of six o´clock Magnus stormed into his room accompanied by the sound of at least dozens of fanfare horns being blown.

No, this wasn’t a metaphor. Magnus literally walked in to the sound of fanfares heralding him. Simon didn’t even bother opening his eyes, instead burying his head under his pillow and hoping that this was just a weird dream and would pass if he just ignored it long enough.

Hope dies last, after all.

“Wake up, my yet-to-be-born friend,” Magnus chimed, much too cheerful for this early hour. “It´s a wonderful Monday morning.” Simon just groaned and tried to scramble as far away from the mad Warlock as possible, but sadly the bed he was sleeping in didn’t offer enough room to escape. Magnus just hauled the covers off him, taking with it every chance Simon still had of falling asleep again.

“Why do I have to suffer?” he moaned, sitting up to glare evilly at Magnus. “Why is this world so cruel to me?” Magnus just rolled his eyes at Simon´s antics.

“It became clear to me that, now that you´re here in the past, it is I who has to take care of your wellbeing,” Magnus started and Simon raised an eyebrow at the Warlock. “Which also entails your education.”

“I´ve actually finished High School,” Simon remarked. “I´m going to college soon, so I think I have that covered.”

“Too bad,” Magnus shrugged. “Because I already forged everything to have you registered for High School. School starts at eight.” Simon´s jaw dropped.

“You did what?!” he screeched. “What the fuck, Magnus?!” 

“Language,” Magnus admonished him. “And I actually put some thoughts into this. I don’t know how long it will take to gather information about whatever artefact transported you here. You can´t stay holed in here the whole time, it´ll drive you insane. Furthermore, even if you don´t want to hear it, we actually don´t know if there´s a possibility to transport you back. There is a small chance that you´ll be stuck here and then you need to fit in this time period, you need to have credentials and you need to have social interactions with you peers.”

Simon swallowed. This was exactly why he hadn’t want to wake up, because it meant facing the problems he so desperately wanted to blend out. Of course, the thought that this wasn´t just a short trip into the past about which he and Clary would laugh later ( _‘Do you remember that one time where I was, like, in the past for a day?’_ ) but a prolonged stay had come to him. And when he wasn´t careful enough the traitorous voice in his head would voice his greatest fear that maybe he was even stuck in the past, forced to live in a period of uniformity, racism, bigotry and Cold War. That he would be old and spent by the time the people he loved would be born, condemned to watch and yearn in the shadows until he would die alone.

From that point of view, Magnus argumentation was sound. But admitting that meant admitting that there was the chance that he wouldn’t make it home and Simon wasn’t ready yet to acknowledge that possibility. But he also knew Magnus and he knew that the Warlock wouldn’t be dissuaded from his course of action. Simon could try to resist, but it would yield him nothing and would only strain the little bit of trust between Magnus and him.

After all, Simon had to remember that while he had known Magnus for years already, to the Warlock he was barely more than a stranger whom he knew just a little bit more than a day. He wouldn’t endear himself to the other man by acting like a spoilt brat that didn’t want to do what others told him.

“Ugh, if I must,” Simon agreed begrudgingly. “But if I end up greasing my hair you have to shot me.”

“I assume that´s a cultural reference from your time, which flew right over my head,” Magnus remarked. “I laid out some clothes for you. I´m gonna drive you to your new school.”

“Wait,” Simon exclaimed. “You have cars? You can actually drive?” The pillow that hid him straight in the face was answer enough.

* * *

Magnus did, indeed, have cars. A whole garage full of them.

“Did you expand space or what do get them all in here?” Simon asked as he let his eyes roam over the vintage cars. He had never developed an interest in cars in general, but he could appreciate a well-made piece of engineering when he saw one.

“Yes, I did,” Magnus replied and walked towards one of the cars standing around. “They tend to accumulate over the year.” He shrugged.

“Wait, so you aren’t collecting them for fun or the like?” Simon asked and took the passenger seat. Magnus snorted.

“Of course not,” he said and started the car. “I don’t care about cars. As long as they have four wheels, a fabulous colour and make ‘broom’ when I start them…”

“You didn’t just say ‘broom’?” Simon laughed. “By the way, I feel really unsafe without seatbelts. That´s a terrible violation of every security regulation I have been brought up with. I really hope you can drive.”

“Fear not,” Magnus replied. “I shall deliver you safe and sound to your destination.” Somehow, the amused glint in his eyes made Simon doubt that statement. Magnus pulled into the street and their drive started.

“What´s my cover story, anyway?” Simon asked as they passed by the houses. His heart rate was elevated, because every sudden movement of the car could spell his death or at least horrible disfigurement, because, _hell_ , no seatbelts, but otherwise Magnus really seemed to be a good driver. “I should probably know it.”

“Look in the glove compartment,” Magnus told him as he turned left into the next street. Simon did as he was told and was greeted by a folder filled with papers, all officially looking and supporting the story with which he had told the Santiagos.

“How did you have the time to do all that?” Simon asked in amazement as he went through the papers.

“Magic,” was Magnus reply, and _yeah_ , Simon should have guessed that.

“And you couldn’t have magicked me a High School diploma so that I could have started with college instead?” he eyed Magnus suspiciously.

The Warlock just sent him a shit-eating grin.

* * *

The High School Magnus delivered him at looked really posh and snobby.

“I don’t think I´ll fit in here,” Simon said, eying the white building.

“Of course you will,” Magnus said. He turned around and grabbed something from the backseat. With a flourish gesture he let a backpack fall into Simon´s lap. “Everything you need is in there. There´s also a bus that will drop you off a few streets from my lair. Have fun!” Faster than Simon could comprehend he was ushered out of the car. With one last honk, that made all the other pupils that were walking up to the school turn around and look at him, Magnus drove from the parking space and back on the street. Simon just continued his way with reddened cheeks and hoped that no one had seen him with the Warlock.

 _I guess the secretariat it is_ , Simon thought and made his way towards the school´s doors.

* * *

The secretary that handed Simon his schedule and offered him help ‘whenever you need, dearie’ must have come straight out of Suburgatory, Simon thought as he backed out of the room and – of course – he walked straight into someone, because Fate was a lil’ bitch and hated him. Cursing he fell down on the floor.

“We definitely shouldn´t continue meeting like this,” a dry and amused voice came from above. Simon adjusted his glasses and stared into the face of no one other than Raphael who held out his hand to help Simon up. Grateful for his assistance Simon took it and was lifted up by the other boy.

“Raphael?” Simon asked confused. “What are you doing here? You live, like, two hours away from here. Isn´t there a school closer to you?”

“This is the only school with an advanced music programme,” Raphael answered. “And my grades were good enough so that they couldn’t refuse my transfer, even though…” _even though I´m not white, even though my mother came here from Mexico and has fought for us ever since, even though they think I´m not worthy enough_ were the words that he didn’t say but Simon heard nevertheless.

“That´s awesome!” Simon exclaimed. “Stick it to those old, racist farts with your talent!” He knew, of course, that Raphael was quite the music lover and that he could play the piano but until now he never had played for Simon.

“Hi, are you new here?” A girl, blonde with pearl white teeth, shoved herself between himself and Raphael.

“I am?” Simon replied, more a question than a statement, taken aback by the girl´s sudden appearance.

“I´m Brittany,” the girl said, the smile on her face never slipping. It reminded Simon of one of these cursed puppets in horror movies. “Brittany Charlington, chairwoman of the Student Council and I´d like to offer to show you around school.”

“That´s very obliging from you,” Simon replied, feeling very uncomfortable by the girl´s intense stare directed at him. She wasn’t even blinking. “But I already have someone showing me around.” He pointed at Raphael standing behind Brittany, whom she had ignored until now. She looked at Raphael and her face fell.

“Him?” she sneered. “You can do better. We whites need to stick together. We´re better than them.”

Simon´s jaw dropped. On an intellectual level he had always known that the 50ies were only the ‘great old times’, like the Tea Party liked to dub it, if you were white and male; he knew that it was the time of segregation and racism and that to a mind of the 21st century the society of then would have more similarities with the apartheid regime of South Africa or Nazi Germany than with modern America.

But witnessing a normal teenage girl spewing such disgusting sentiment and actually believing them, because she didn’t know better – because this hate had been handed down to her by her parents and to them by her grandparents before – drove the point home more forcefully than any History of Contemporary America 101 lecture ever could.

Simon felt disgusted and tainted. He just wanted to turn around, run back to Magnus’ lair and hide under his covers until he could be transported back to his time.

“You´re so right,” he replied. “I could do better. That´s why I prefer him over you.” Both Raphael and Brittany´s mouths fell open. “So, if you excuse me? Bleaching your teeth doesn’t change the fact that it´s dirt underneath.” With that last insult – which he would probably regret later, but right now Simon was too angry to care – he grabbed Raphael by his arm and led him away from the still shocked Brittany.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Raphael mumbled after a while. “Brittany´s pretty influential around here. Her father´s some industrialist who pretty much owns the school with his donations.” He looked at Simon doubtfully and it made Simon´s heart ache to see how much of a victim of this unjust system Raphael was, believing that he wasn´t worth the trouble.

“I´d rather make friends with hundreds of ‘inferiors’ than befriending one single Brittany,” Simon stated with conviction. “Maybe one day she´ll see the errors of her ways, or maybe not. But right now she isn´t a person worth to be bothering with.” Viewing that topic as closed, Simon looked down on his timetable. “Where´s geography?”

Raphael took the piece of paper out of his hand and looked down on it. “I have geography, too. Might as well show you the way.”

“Thanks,” Simon beamed at the other boy.

* * *

Raphael couldn´t stop looking at Simon while he was taking notes during their geography lessons.

When they had entered the classroom Raphael had headed straight to his place at the back. The teacher, Ms Henderson, had instructed some pupils in the front to make place for Simon ( _even though there was a free table right next to Raphael, but he was the Undesirable, nobody wanted to sit next to him_ ), but Simon had walked up to Raphael and dumbed his stuff right on the table next to him as if it was a matter of course that he would be sitting there. It had earned him dubious gazes from the teacher and the others but no one commented on it.

He was different than the rest of the teenagers around him. When Raphael had literally run into the other boy in front of the secretariat he had expected to be ignored at best and insulted at worst. But instead Simon had talked to him like he was just another pupil and not some foreign body the others treated him like. And then Simon had chosen him over Brittany Charlington, the unofficial queen of the school.

Raphael was used to the people around him ignoring or insulting him. Was used to the teacher giving him worse grades than his peers even though his performance was equal or even better than them. Was resigned to the fact that his school life would never be as enjoyable as the one of his friends. But he wanted to follow his dream of becoming a musician and there wasn´t much time of school left anyway.

Yet, it still touched some small, hidden part of Raphael that always wanted to be just accepted, when Simon told Brittany off. It still made some small flame of hope stir within him when Simon was so insistent of becoming his friend.

Maybe, the rest of the school year wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	4. Arc I: Circulus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present!Raphael makes a phone call, Clary and Jace get some action (not _this_ kind of action), Simon and past!Raphael have their first bonding experience (again, not _this_ kind of bonding).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I really don´t know how long I´ll be able to keep up this update pace. I currently have a whole week free, but then the hot phase before finals starts, so enjoy it as long as it lasts :D

**Present**

* * *

Raphael woke up and he remembered Simon.

He remembered Simon on his first day of school and how he had chosen him over Brittany, even going so far as insulting her straight to her face. Raphael smiled when he remembered her face, jaw dropped at the other boy´s audacity. It was exactly like Simon to go against anyone, no matter their power or pedigree, the moment there was some injustice.

Simon had been the first one, outside his family and close friend who had made him feel like he was someone special. Even though he just remembered this first day Raphael already knew that. Simon had chosen Raphael again and again, even though everyone around them hadn’t want him to.

It made a warmth curse through Raphael´s body that he couldn’t describe.

Yet, there was still the fact that Simon was _in the past_. Coming from experience, Raphael could probably assume that Magnus was at least partly at fault. He picked up his mobile from the nightstand and called Magnus number (it was the only one saved in his phone; the Warlock´s and Simon`s. Raphael didn’t do friends.).

“Hey, Raph,” Magnus’ much too cheerful voice rang through the phone. “As punctual as the sunset.” Raphael glowered, even though Magnus would not see it. But an over the top cheerful Magnus always meant something had gone awry and he wanted to distract you.

“Why is Simon in the past?” he asked in even voice. “In _my past_?” He knew that his tone would convey the seriousness of the situation well enough, at least to Magnus, because Raphael never spoke calmly. He sneered, hissed, taunted, but he didn’t speak calmly.

“He´s not only in yours,” Magnus pouted. “He lives with past!me after all.” Raphael hissed and his fangs dropped.

“Woah, woah, calm down,” Magnus spoke. “We – that means me and our pet Shadowhunters –“ there was some distant voice of protest in the background “– were going through some stuff the Clave confiscated from Circle members and he touched some magical object that apparently transported him to 1953.”

“You let him touch something you didn’t know if it was dangerous?” Raphael exclaimed enraged. Magnus should know that you should give to Simon only things that you made sure weren´t dangerous. That boy would probably manage to strangle himself with a napkin if you left him alone with one long enough.

“Everything else was harmless!” Magnus protested weakly. “Hell, we found several candlesticks! Who has so many candlesticks? You don´t need anyone, by chance, do you? They´re in pretty good shape, considering how they were treated…” Raphael rubbed his temples even though as vampire he couldn’t even get headaches. But if there was any person who would manage it would definitely be either Magnus or Simon. Before the Warlock and Simon met, Magnus never used to ramble and now he was doing it constantly.

“I don’t need any candlesticks!” Raphael hissed. He could stab Camille with one, though. He banished that thought into the back of his mind. “What are we gonna do to get Simon back?”

“Nothing,” Magnus replied and apparently sensing Raphael´s wrath erupting even through the phone connection he hastened to continue his explanation. “I know that I´ll soon know what it was that transported Simon back, temporal mechanics at work, y´know, and until then we can do nothing but assimilating the new memories and continue to prepare against Valentine.”

Raphael sighed. His heart told him that he should head out and try to get Simon back on his own, because leaving him in the past on his own? That could only spell total disaster. But his mind told him that Magnus’ logic was sound and that he couldn’t do anything anyway. Magic had never been his forte and Magnus probably already had tried every avenue Raphael could come up with.

“You´ll tell me as soon as you know something new?” Raphael asked, this time his voice softer.

“Of course,” Magnus assured him. “But right now, I must go back and go through all this boring stuff.” The Warlock sighed. “At least I have hot company.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Raphael replied drily and then ended the call. With a loud ‘huff’ he let himself fall back into his coffin.

Just five more minutes before he had to go outside and face the world.

* * *

Standing up, Clary stretched her legs and arms, relishing the satisfying popping sound that elicited from her bones. After having been forced to lay in bed for nearly three days she could finally get up again without the help of Jace. She still blushed when the memory of him carrying her back into her bed came to the forefront of her mind.

“Finally ready for freedom again?” came a voice from the hospital wing´s entrance. Clary spun around only to see the familiar figure of Jace leaning against the door frame, arms folded and trademark smirk on his face.

“I feel like a new human,” Clary replied. But then she remembered why she had even bothered and the smile vanished from her face.

“What´s the matter?” Jace asked with a frown on his face.

“What´s the matter?” Clary repeated incredulously. “My mom´s been abducted and I´ve been lying here, doing nothing for three days while she suffered through God knows what!” Her voice´s volume increased the further she spoke until she was nearly hysteric. “I don´t even know who has her!”

“The Circle,” Jace answered.

“What exactly is a Circle and why did the kidnap my mother?” Clary demanded to know. She needed to get up-to-speed with this new world as soon as possible. She couldn’t be so dependent on people she didn’t really know if she wanted to save her mother.

“All we know is,” Jace started, “a long time ago the Circle led a revolt. A lot of Shadowhunters got killed, including my father.” A pang of sadness shot through Clary´s heart. “And since the revolt we´ve been forbidden to even hear about the Circle.”

“But how is that even possible?” Clary exclaimed aghast. “It´s your history.”

“Says the girl who didn’t know she was a Shadowhunter,” Jace scoffed.

“Yeah,” Clary conceded. “You´re right. And now the only person who knows the truth is missing, so I don’t care about your rules or what´s forbidden. There´s got to be someone out there who can tell us why they´ve taken my mother.”

“There is,” Jace remarked. He turned around and made his way to the door. Halfway he turned around and asked with raised eyebrow: “You´re coming?” Clary hurried to go after him. With determination in every step the blonde led her through the hallways and corridors of the Institute. It was a true mace and Clary was sure that she would have gotten lost somewhere along the way if she had tried to find the exit on her own.

Finally, they reached a wide and open room, which ground was covered in runes. Right in the middle of it a man in training gear was furiously beating up a dummy with a long stick.

“That´s Hodge Starkweather, our weapons trainer,” Jace spoke, barely above a whisper. “And, more important for us, a former Circle member.” It was only now that Clary noticed the angry-red circle on the man´s neck. “After the Uprising, Hodge repented and he was sent to live and work here to make amends, but he´s forbidden to ever leave the Institute.” It was in this moment that the man noticed them. One short gaze and the man´s eyes widened upon seeing Clary, his weapon falling to the ground with loud clatter.

“Jocelyn?” he spoke, hesitance but also hope in his voice.

“Uh, I´m Clary,” Clary introduced herself and because Hodge wouldn’t stop staring at her as if he had seen a ghost, she added: “Uh, Jocelyn Fray is my mother.”

“Well,” Hodge said. “She was Jocelyn Fairchild when I knew her. She was one of my best friends.” He let out a wistful sigh. Clary didn’t have time to swap stories with a former companion of her mother. Inwardly she was reeling at the revelation that her mother had, indeed, kept so much secret from her. She hadn’t even known her mother´s real name until now! But there wasn’t any time for that now. Clary had a mission to accomplish.

“She´s been kidnapped,” Clary told Hodge whose eyes widened in surprise. “By someone named Valentine and his men.”

“By the Circle, Hodge,” Jace added, speaking up for the first time.

“But that´s impossible,” Hodge protested vehemently. “Valentine´s dead and the Circle died with him.” Suddenly the man was choking, the circle rune on his neck hissing and burning up.

“What´s happening?” Clary wanted to know, terrified.

“I swore a vow to never speak of what we did,” Hodge explained. “This is the Clave´s way of making sure I keep that vow.” Clary was aghast. How could any government body inflict this upon the people it was leading, even if they committed a crime? That was more in line with some middle age regime than an enlightened government.

“We can´t torture him, Jace,” she hissed at the blonde who was standing next to her motionlessly. “Is there anyone else we can ask?”

“If the Circle really is back and they´ve taken Jocelyn…” Hodge continued even though it surely must hurt him. “Our leader…our leader of the Circle was Valentine Morgenstern –“ he winced as the rune continued to burn up. “We thought he wanted to protect humanity, like all Shadowhunters. But we never realized the lengths which Valentine was willing to go. The people he was willing to sacrifice.” The smell of burning flesh creeped into Clary´s nose and she had to gather every bit of her self-composure in order to not get sick right on the spot. “Most of humanity would die of we carried out Valentine´s plan.”

“I still don’t understand,” Clary spoke confused. “How does my mother relate to any of this?”

“Jocelyn was a member of the Circle as well.”

Breath in. Breath out. That was the only thing that Clary was aware. This…this couldn’t be. So many things she had always thought as certain had already been destroyed – _shattered_ – even her very blood wasn´t what she always thought it was and she just couldn’t take that her mother was supposed to be in a Nazi-like terror group. Not her mother, who treated everyone equal and had made her apologize to a dog once when she had stepped on his tale. Not the woman who would always carry a little bit of coins in her pocket to give to the homeless around their bloc.

“No,” Clary retorted. “I can´t believe it. My mother, she…”

“The important thing is that Jocelyn left the Circle,” Hodge replied with understanding in his voice. But then his expression distorted all of a sudden as the circle run hissed again.

“Hodge, Hodge.” Jace shook his mentor by his shoulders.

“I´m sorry, but we can´t ask him to do this,” Clary interceded.

“Clary, we don’t have a choice,” Jace replied and for a moment she hated him for how in control and how unfazed he sounded. “You understand that, Hodge, right?”

“Jace is right,” Hodge wheezed. “Valentine nearly destroyed the Shadow World and humanity along with it. If he´d gotten the Cup…”

“Wait a minute,” Clary interrupted him. “The demon that attacked me at home thought my mother had some cup and that I knew where it was.”

“Clary, the Mortal Cup is the most important object in the Shadow World,” Jace said and there was a new intensity in his gaze as he looked at her. “Whoever possesses it can create more Shadowhunters. And it the wrong hands…control demons.”

“If Jocelyn hid the Cup from Valentine, then she´s in more danger than you can possibly imagine.” This time the run seared so hot that Hodge couldn’t supress a scream.

“I hate to make you suffer like this,” Clary said, a clump in her throat. “I´m so sorry.”

“Your mother was only trying to protect you,” Hodge assuaged her. “And now you must protect her. Stop Valentine, before he destroys you all.” Clary wanted to say something more – apologizing for making the man suffer on her behalf – but Jace was already leading her out of the room into the empty hallway.

“Clary, look, will you just calm down,” Jace murmured to her.

“Calm down?” Clary repeated incredulously. “Really, calm down?” She tore her arm out of Jace´s grip and turned around to face him. “Okay, Jace, you might be some kind of emotionless G.I. Joe, but…”

“What´s a G.I. Joe?” Jace interrupted her in confusion and Clary felt enraged on behalf of half of the world´s population, especially Simon.

“A soldier who doesn’t understand human emotions, who doesn’t know what it´s like to lose someone, to lose your own mother,” she said.

“You´re right,” Jace replied emotionlessly. “I never knew my mother.” Instantly, Clary regretted her choice of words, guilt and bad consciousness meshing in her mind.

“I didn’t know,” she stammered.

“That´s precisely my point,” Jace retorted. “You don’t know anything about this. You don’t know about me, you don’t know about my life, but in the Shadow World, no training and no plan gets you killed.” Clary sighed. He was right.

“Okay, so we know that Valentine is back and he wants the Cup, and for some reason he thinks my mother has it,” she summarised what they knew by now.

“Could she?” Jace asked. “Have the Cup?”

“I don’t know,” Clary replied.

“Look, Clary,” Jace started, “you know about runes. You´ve drawn them. You know something. Think, please.”

“I´ve tried, Jace, okay?” Clary exclaimed. “It´s just empty blackness.” She couldn’t even say how often she had thought about runes and how she could have drawn them only to face this impenetrable wall of darkness in her own mind. It made her feel weak and violated, realizing that there was this foreign body in her own head that wouldn’t release the memories she was sure it held.

“Your memory´s been wiped,” Jace said.

“That´s not possible,” Clary protested weakly. “Is it?”

“It is,” Jace replied.

“Then how do I get my memories back?” Clary demanded to know.

“There´s one sure way to get them back,” Jace said carefully and it looked like just mentioning it pained him greatly. “The Silent Brothers.”

“Who are the Silent Brothers?” Clary asked.

“They´re Shadowhunters with superior powers,” Jace explained. “Who possess the ability to recover memories.” He paused for a moment. “A process that can also kill you, so there´s that.”

“Your bedside manner is abysmal,” Clary retorted. “But this is the only way?” Jace nodded.

“Alec and Izzy are busy getting your friend back,” he said and a flash of hurt shot through Clary as she thought about her best friend who was still missing. “There´s not much I can do to help them. But I can help you.”

“Then let´s not waste any time,” Clary replied. “Let´s go.”

* * *

**1953**

* * *

“So, what is it with girls and this garish pink around here?” Simon asked as he sat down beside Raphael in the cafeteria. Raphael gazed around; some people were more or less openly staring at Simon and Brittany was furiously whispering to her friends, pointing at them every now and then.

“What are you doing here?” Raphael asked. They had separated after geography, having different subjects. And now Simon was here again, sitting down at his table at which he had always sat alone, because no one wanted to sit with the poor Hispanic kid. Raphael had thought that Simon sitting with him in geography and generally being nice to him was just because Raphael was the only familiar face around here and that he would move on to some better ( _whiter_ ) group the moment he had the chance, but again he was here, right next to Raphael.

“How does it look like?” Simon replied while eying the food that was stacked on his tablet with a mixture between fascination and disgust. “I sit with the only nice person I know around here. With whom should I sit otherwise? Brittany?” He snorted. “Nah, you´re stuck with me now and forever.”

He may have intended this as a kind of threat, but the only thing it did was making warmth spread through Raphael´s body. He had long given up on ever finding any friends here, resigned to ridicule and hidden scorn, but apparently he could have only fooled himself up until Simon came because hearing this declaration lifted a weight from him that he hadn’t noticed until now.

Raphael had never realized that it was possible to feel so light, so carefree like he usually only felt with his family or his friends here in school. Not until Simon came around.

“Your funeral,” Raphael mumbled and Simon beamed at him. “And I think it´s because of some new dress Marilyn wore the other day. My sisters saw it one of the TVs in the shop-windows at Hawcort and wouldn’t shut up the whole day.” For one moment Simon looked really star struck, but then the expression vanished as fast as it had appeared and he smiled at Raphael again.

“Do you think it lives?” he asked with trepidation as he stirred in his food. “Will it kill me from within? Devour my entrails while I writhe on the ground, screaming in pain?” He seemed to have realized what he was saying, for he was suddenly shutting up and turning bright red.

“Please, ignore what I´ve just said,” he stammered. “I´m a normal, well-adjusted human being and my thoughts are not violent in any kind or form.” Raphael looked at him doubtfully.

“I like Hitchcock as well,” he just said. “And yes, that –“ he pointed at Simon´s food “- will probably kill you. Every now and then a student goes missing around here.” He whispered conspiratorially. Simon´s eyes widened in mock-shock.

Maybe, Raphael, things were really looking up for him.

* * *

School day had finally ended. Never had relief been so palpable to Simon as in the moment when he walked down the marble steps of the school building besides Raphael. Simon was pretty sure that he had managed to make the other boy believe that he really wanted to be his friend and was not, in fact, waiting for some better social opportunities to present themselves.

Once Raphael let his guard down a little bit around him the familiar snark, humour and sarcasm Simon knew from his Raphael came out in full force. No one ever paid attention to Raphael and so he heard and saw things that the rest of the High School populace wasn’t even aware of and he gleefully shared these with Simon, both boys engaging in some god old schadenfreude. Apparently, chastity wasn´t such a high valued good amongst both girls and boys around here as they liked to assure.

“Hey!” Simon kept walking. “Hey!”

“I think he means you,” Raphael whispered to him. Annoyed, Simon turned around. Leaning against the small fence that was encircling the school building were a group of boys, all wearing the same college jacket, jeans and their hair gelled back.

Simon let out a long suffering sigh.

“You´re the new one,” the boy in the middle, apparently their ring leader, stated. “The one who insulted my Brittany.”

 _Oh my God_ , Simon thought, _can this get any more cliché? Will he throw me in a trash can? Pour a slushy over my head?_ He was so done with the 50ies. And he had been here for barely two days already.   

“I didn’t know she was _yours_ ,” Simon replied. “If I had I´d insulted you instead.”

“Simon,” Raphael said, tugging at his shirt. “Let´s just go, okay?”

“Yeah,” another boy taunted. “Listen to bean boy.” At this insult, Raphael´s expression shut down completely. Simon wanted to hit the other boy in his stupid, white face, but he was still rational enough to know that he had no chance against the gang of boys in front of him. So, instead, he had another go at their leader.

“Poor Brittany,” Simon tooted. “She must have been pretty confused when she went out with you. How else could she have mistaken you for a real man? Can you even offer her anything but infinite stupidity and the promise of anonymity in averageness?” The boy´s face distorted into a scowl and his friends that up until now had been leaning against the fence were now advancing on them. Without thinking Simon turned around, snatched Raphael by the arm and started running. 

There were shouts after them, but Simon didn’t pay them any heed. He let Raphael take the lead and followed the other boy as they winded their way through the streets, not even knowing if they were being followed or not. It was exhilarating and somehow Simon felt light and free, because he had to think about nothing but setting one feet in front of the other and making sure that he didn’t run into a wall or something.

Simon didn’t know how long they had run – or how far – but finally Raphael stopped in some side street, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily.

“You,” he wheezed, “are completely, utterly, totally crazy!”

“I am,” Simon shot back. They looked at each other and then they burst out laughing which – considering the fact that they just ran what felt like a marathon – made Simon feel like he was suffocating. Dying from laughter was some way to go, he thought.

“Shit!” Raphael cursed when they had stopped laughing. “My mom´s gonna kill me if I´m too late.” He turned to Simon. “Can you find your way home by yourself if I show you to the next main road?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Simon replied. He stood up and together they made their way out of the side street they had found themselves in.

“That was fun,” Simon proclaimed. “We should do it again sometimes.” Raphael looked at him with an incredulous expression.

“Just kidding,” Simon assuaged him.

“I had fun, though,” Raphael admitted. “See you tomorrow.” And then he was already walking down the street, leaving Simon standing there, staring after him.

Who knew that you could have so much fun in the 50ies?

* * *

“Where have you been?” were the words with which Raphael was greeted by his mother. “I was so worried.” She embraced Raphael and he awkwardly patted her back because he had never seen his mother this distressed. “I´m so glad that you´re alright.” She let go of him and Raphael noticed that there were some dried tears on her face.

“Mamá, what´s going on?” he asked in trepidation.

“You haven’t heard?” his mother asked and Raphael shook his head.

“Oh, Raphael, it´s so terrible!” she wailed. “They found Ricky. He´s been murdered!”

* * *

Simon did find his way back to Magnus’ lair, but he had underestimated the distances involved and so the sun was already sinking when he let the door fall back into its lock and marched straight up to his room, ready to just fall into his bed and sleep after this day.

Yet again, though, his hope of finally finding some rest would not come true. Opening the door to his room Simon found Magnus already sitting on his bed.

“Finally back, aren´t we?” Magnus asked.

“Well, there was some running from bullies involved, so there´s that,” Simon replied, unsure what to say to the Warlock. Time travel did, indeed, complicate any kind of relationship.

“Your first day and you´re already involved in fights?” Magnus remarked with raised eyebrow. Simon shuffled on his feet.

“Well,” he muttered. “This time period is just horrible and I seem unable to keep my opinion to myself?” He ended the statement as question, because he was not sure what Magnus actually wanted to hear.

“You should have seen the 30ies,” Magnus commented idly. “But it doesn’t surprise me that your mouth´s already gotten you into trouble.” A sound of protest made it past Simon´s lips, even though Magnus’ assessment was pretty much spot on. “But that´s not why I´m here. A friend of mine has finally answered to a request of mine concerning your situation. We´re going to pay her a little visit.”

“Right now?” Simon wanted to know.

“Do you want to get back to your time or not?” Magnus asked.

“Of course,” Simon replied. “Who´re we gonna meet.”

“Her name is Thessa Gray.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Clary and Jace still go to the Silent Brothers even though there´s a certified Warlock amongst them (who also has Clary´s memories). But they don´t know that...at least I hope they don´t, because if they did that would mean that I wrote somethig different in the chapters before and have to scrap this chapter. Maybe I should start making a bullet point list with all the important things happening in my story???


	5. Arc I: Praevisionis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary opens a new can of worms by going to the Silent Brothers, Simon meets some old friend of Magnus and Raphael literally runs (though it was more of a stroll) into someone he wouldn´t have thought he´d ever see again in his immortal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed another chapter before finals! 
> 
> Yeah, I know in the show the entrance to the City of Bones was underneath some bridge, but I had no internet to re-watch that particular scene and so I had to make something up because I couldn´t remember it anymore, so graveyard it is :D The only things I know about Tessa Gray are what is written in her rather extensive wikia article. Btw, who needs magic when you have cool tech gadgets? 
> 
> The only song I listened to while writing this: [Freeze You Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ob50nNoGhTU/) by Sia.

**Present**

* * *

Clary watched as the city passed her by. Blurring lines amid darkness, forms emerging and fading again before they could solidify enough for her to recognize who they were. She pressed herself closer to Jace to whom she was clinging tightly as he manoeuvred the motorcycle through the busy streets of Manhattan. She could feel his warmth from under his clothes, a stark contrast to the cold wind that was blowing against her face and through her hair. They were so close that Clary could even smell him; leather, smoke and an underlying tone of cinnamon, which surprised her. It was surprisingly comforting being so close to someone while they put more and more distance between the Institute and themselves.

Clary didn’t know where exactly they were going. ‘City of Bones’. She hadn’t want to admit it to Jace but that sounded all kind of ridiculous and pretentious. Like a bad horror flick that tried to be more than it actually was by giving everything mysteriously sounding names and failing horribly at it, too. But Clary wasn’t insensitive enough to say it out loud; even though Jace may have live here in Manhattan, culturally he was as foreign to her as someone from central China would be. And you didn’t ridicule culture, you just don´t. Simon could hold a whole speech about it.

She had wondered, though, if he even had a driving license, to which he had mumbled something akin to ‘you don´t need a driving license for stolen vampire motorcycles’. Clary hadn’t commented on that, though she was thankful that Jace didn’t fly with the stupid thing, as he had claimed it could, because she was already terrified enough with the pace he was setting. That hundred meters in the air? Nope, not with her.

Finally, Jace slowed down until they finally came to a halt in front of a cemetery.

“Really?” Clary remarked with raised eyebrows. “The entry to the City of Bones is in a cemetery?” Jace just shrugged as if he had never spent a single thought on it.

“Nobody´s around here to notice a few strangers going in and coming out hours later,” he replied and Clary had to admit that he had a point. As she looked around there was nothing, only a few abandoned buildings with broken windows, graffiti on their walls and doors lifted out of their hinges.

She followed Jace as he determinedly made his way through the graveyard. Every now and then she would look at one of the decaying headstones and try to decipher who had been laid to rest here. Who had they been in life? How had they ended up here? Question that flashed through her mind, but vanished again as fast.

“Here it is,” Jace said and pointed towards a vault that was completely covered with vines. Next to its entry stood a statue of an angel, weeping and covering its face with its hands. Even though its surroundings were covered with plants and had fallen into disrepair the angel itself was devoid of any flaw, the stone it was made of still smooth and glowing with an otherworldly light. Maybe it was just Clary´s imagination or the stark contrast between the clean statue and its dirty surroundings.

“You take this whole thing rather well,” Jace commented. “Even mentioning the City of Bones gets Izzy in a mood.”

“I guess I always felt like there was something missing,” Clary replied. “Some void I couldn’t quite explain. As odd as it sounds, things are finally starting to make sense. But none of it´s gonna matter unless I get my mom back.”

“Then let´s do that,” Jace said and squeezed her shoulder before he turned around and vanished into the vault´s entrance. Clary looked back one last time. Then she took a deep breath and followed the other Shadowhunter into the darkness.  

But the darkness didn’t last long. Barely a few steps and Clary caught up to Jace who was standing there with some sort of glowing stone in his hand.

“What´s that?” Clary asked.

“It´s witch light,” Jace explained. “We carry it to remind us that light can be found even in the darkest of places. And it´s cooler than a flashlight.” He chuckled, and that simply thing made his face look so much more youthful and energized. His usual stony and serious expression only added age to his face. But then as fast as it had come it was gone again.

“You have to understand that the Silent Brothers aren’t like us,” he said as they continued their way through the tunnel, the only noise besides Jace´s voice the sound of their footsteps echoing through the dark.

“They lack your charm und superior people skills?” Clary joked. Even though it was just a tunnel, it creeped her out and she made sure to stay as near to Jace as possible. She was afraid that something would grip her from out of the blackness surrounding them and drag her to a place where she would never see the sun again. Joking seemed like the only way to keep these dark thoughts at bay.

“Yeah, most people do,” Jace replied wryly. “The Silent Brothers communicate without using words, using just their thoughts.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Clary remarked.

“Don´t let their silence fool you,” Jace warned. “They´ll hold the Soul Sword to your head and with its blade, carve out the truth from your mind. If you´re not strong enough, you will die.”

“I take it back,” Clary quipped. “That sounds ten level of bad.” Abruptly, Jace came to a halt and Clary nearly ran into him. ´

“Clary, you should know, the pain will be excruciating,” he professed. “You don’t have to. We still have the chance to turn back…”

“I´ll do anything,” Clary declared forcefully, “walk through fire, battle demons, whatever it takes to get my mom back. I can´t…I won´t lose her.” And even though Clary was terrified by the prospect of facing the strange brotherhood, even though her whole mind was wrought with fear, she meant every word of it. Her mother was her all and everything and she was willing to do anything to get the most important person in her life back. Even if it included the prospect of actually dying.

Jace just looked at her as if he was trying to ascertain if her determination rang true. Apparently he didn’t find her lacking, a new kind of respect kindling in his eyes as he turned around again and led Clary further along.

She didn’t know how long they had been here already – her sense of time completely askew by now – or how much distance they had put between themselves and the entrance to the underground network of tunnels. The only thing Clary was aware of was putting one feet in front of the other and the witch light Jace was carrying, the only source of light that illuminated the black walls around her. But suddenly the walls gave away and the tunnel widened into a cave. The witch light shone brighter, but it wasn’t able to light the whole cave.

In the middle of the hollowed out space stood a statue. Clary stepped nearer – right next to Jace – and recognized another angel standing there, wings open wide, holding a cup in one and a sword in the other hand. Whoever had carved the angel´s likeness into stone had done a great job. It looked like the angel could start moving at a moment´s notice and start passing judgement onto those standing in front of him. Under the angel´s scrutinizing gaze Clary felt small and unworthy.

“Is that meant to be the Mortal Cup?” she asked, barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to disrupt the reverential atmosphere around them with her loud voice.

“Yeah,” Jace confirmed.

“What´s that say?” she wanted to know, pointing at the inscription on the sword.

“It´s the Shadowhunter creed,” Jace replied. “’Looking better in black than the widows of our enemies.’” Clary chuckled.

“My Latin´s pretty rusty, but I´m almost positive that´s not what that says,” she said.

“’For Shadowhunters, the descent into Hell is easy’,” Jace finally translated and Clary didn’t know if it was the atmosphere or the serious tone in which he conveyed it, but it made her shudder. “It´s this way.”

Jace led Clary down another path that branched off from the cave they were in. After another walk they entered another cave. But Clary noticed right away that this one wasn’t natural; its walls too even, too symmetrical for that. The witch light wandered over the smooth walls. Clary gasped in horror as she recognized the shapes on the walls as human bones that were inlaid in the stone. Bone after bone, stretching over the walls, building up to strange symmetrical patterns.

“The bones of the Shadowhunters before us,” Jace commented. “They´re buried here so that even in death they can continue their duty of protecting the world from demons.” Clary didn’t think that this was very comforting, but she didn’t comment on it. Finally, they reached a circular room. In the middle of it laid a disk with a symbol engraved upon it that held strange similarities with a searching eye.

“I´ve drawn this before,” Clary pointed out. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“It means ‘clairvoyance’,” Jace explained.

“ _Shadowhunters._ ” A voice suddenly echoed through Clary´s head. It felt like her mind was suddenly engulfed by water, as if she was drowning in something bigger. The presence pressed down upon her, washed through every corner of her mind, seized her, appraised her and there was nothing she could do to push it out. She grasped her head, tried to cover her ears, but it was all to no avail; the inhuman presence wouldn’t recede.

Hooded figures entered the circle of light the witch light had created around them. Clary´s mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw that underneath the hoods were faces with eyes and mouths sewn shut. Terrible, disfigured, inhuman faces were looking at her and Clary had to fight the urge to just turn around and run away. Away from these horrors. Away from a society that would have its members mutilate themselves in such horrendous ways. In what horror had she landed herself in? But she couldn’t turn back now. These Silent Brother were her only chance at getting her mother back.

“ _Come into the circle,_ ” the voice intoned. Hesitantly Clary did as she was told, trying to order her feet not to give out under her. “ _Step away, Jace Wayland._ ”

“I´ll be right here,” Jace assured her and somehow Clary felt better knowing that, even though she barely knew the other Shadowhunter.

“ _The search of your unconscious is a perilous one,_ ” the voice warned her.

“Please,” Clary begged and she hated herself for how weak and pathetic she sounded in front of this inhuman beings with their maimed faces, erasing any trace of emotion from their faces. “My memories were blocked. I have to get them back.”

“ _If you are not strong enough the Soul Sword will kill you,_ ” the voice warned again. Clary thought about how she had already failed Simon who was lost somewhere nobody knew and how she couldn’t fail to help the only other person left to her, not when she had the chance to do something.

“I´m ready,” she replied and she managed to make her voice sound even and determined.

Then the sword descended upon her.

* * *

“Have you seen Jace?” Izzy asked Alec after he had finally managed to get Bane ( _‘Magnus, Bane makes me feel so malfeasant’_ ) to sleep in one of their guest suites the Institute held for important guests.

“No,” Alec replied. “Isn´t he lurking around the hospital wing?” He raised an eyebrow at his sister in order to properly convey how utter ridiculous and improper he found Jace´s obsession with the new Shadowhunter girl they had found.

“No, he isn´t,” Izzy stated. “And neither is Clary.” Alec looked at her questioning. “The girl he saved?” She glared at him incredulously.

“Sorry, sorry,” Alec placated. “I had my hands full with a High Warlock and the Mundane that follows him around everywhere…or the other way around.”

“Point is,” Izzy continued and Alec breathed out in relief at that bullet dodged, “that apparently neither of them is in the Institute.” Alec let out a weary sigh. That could only mean that these two had embarked on one of Jace´s half-assed plans that never worked out as well as he propagated.

“You want to use the Parabataib rune to track him?” Alec questioned. “Or should we use some other tracking spell first? I could ask Magnus if he would do…Ouch!” He winced as Izzy slapped him on the back of his head.

“We don´t need magic,” Izzy scoffed. “Jace still hasn´t managed to switch off the Fiend Friends app on his iPhone. I´ll locate him with that. I just came to you to inform you. I know how greatly you dislike not knowing what is going on around here.” She grinned. “Especially when it comes to Church.” Alec´s cheeks burned up.

“That was a serious matter!” he defended himself.

“You had a Shadowhunter follow that cat for a whole week because he vanished for one hour and you didn’t know where he´d been,” Izzy remarked gleefully. “You even had him watching Church while he was sleeping. A Shadowhunter guarding a cat. You were eight and that man was too afraid of you to say no!”

“Glad that you enjoyed it so much,” Alec grinded out. “Now, would you please locate Jace?”

“Don´t get your panties in a twist,” Izzy quipped. She pulled out her phone (Alec didn’t know – and didn’t want to know – from where, because the dress she wore looked like it didn’t even leave enough room for breathing, lest to put away an actual phone) and started the search, Alec looking over her shoulder.

After a while the pin finally fell on Jace´s location and Alec looked at Izzy who looked equally puzzled as him.

“What is Jace doing in the City of Bones?”

* * *

_Clary was lying in her bed, talking animatedly to Simon on the phone._

_“No way,” she chuckled. “Really? Huh.” Suddenly she heard footsteps approaching._

_“Simon, I gotta go,” she whispered into her phone before she chucked it aside and covered herself, making it look like she was sleeping._

_“Luke, no!” she heard her mother furiously whispering._

_“All this lying is destroying you!” Luke whispered back equally as agitated as her mother. “Stop blocking her memory and tell her the truth!”_

_“I can´t,” her mother replied. “You know I can´t.”_

_“You´re just delaying the inevitable,” Luke argued. “Clary´s a Shadowhunter. There´s nothing you can do to change that.”_

_“This world is too dangerous,” her mother shot back. “If anyone knew who she really was, the risk would be a hundreds time greater.”_

_“What happens when she finds out the truth on her own?” Luke demanded to know. “And then what?”_

_“I won´t let that happen,” her mother responded determined. “If she ever learns about her father…if she ever finds out her father is Valentine…_

The memory stopped and Clary was torn back into the cave. The Sword stopped touching her and the Silent Brothers slowly drew back into the darkness and there suddenly were so many confusing emotions waring inside her that she didn’t know what to do.

“Wait…wait!” she screamed. “Where are you going? We aren´t done. We can´t be done!” A hand was steadying her and when she looked up she looked into the worried eyes of Jace.

“Clary, do you know where the Cup is?” he asked and Clary would have loved to scream at him that she didn’t care right now where his fucking cup was.

“No,” she stammered out instead.

“ _Only fragments of her memory were accessible to us,_ ” the voice of the Silent Brothers explained.

“It can´t be true…what I saw,” Clary protested.

“ _Your memory does not lie. You must accept the truth that has been revealed._ ”

“What is it? What did you see?” Jace wanted to know.

“My mother lied to me,” Clary replied tonelessly. She was too exhausted to give her rage and hurt any voice. “She lied to me all these years about my father.”

“About your father? What about your father?” Jace asked confused.

“My father…my father is Valentine.”

* * *

  **1953**

* * *

The portal Magnus had summoned led to a grassy hill somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The moment Magnus had stepped through it after Simon it closed again, leaving the scenery as undisturbed as it had been mere seconds before. In the distance Simon could see a lake at which edges a forest began to expand until it filled out the whole horizon. It reminded him of how he had often imagined the Great Lake of Hogwarts to look like with the Forbidden Forest right at its shores.

Turning around he could see that the hilly landscape continued there, but it was disrupted by signs of human settlement. A gravel pathway winding itself from where they were standing towards an aristocratic mansion built atop one of the hills.

“Are we in England?” Simon asked.

“Tessa always held a particular fondness for that country,” Magnus commented. “Even though their food is atrocious. An insult to every gourmet.” He snuffed. “Let´s continue our way. We don´t want this to drag on until late, do we? After all, you have school tomorrow.” He started walking towards the mansion, thus not noticing the absolutely evil glare Simon sent him.

Simon followed the Warlock. As the mansion drew nearer, he recognised that it wasn’t in the best of shapes. The stucco was crumbling, the grass unkempt and the windows covered with curtains, allowing no one to gaze inside.

“Does anybody live here?” Simon asked as they climbed the stairs towards the entrance.

“Once,” Magnus replied. “Now, it is only rarely used for when Tessa deigns to come out of her isolation. She raised her children here before they all grew old and left.” He didn’t leave Simon any time to reply, instead knocking on the wooden portal. For a few moments nothing happened, then the doors swung open and allowed them entrance.

Behind the doorway was a long hall. Its floor was made out of wide and black marble, patterned like a chess board and even though the outside of the mansion spoke of negligence, the floor itself was polished to a degree that Simon could see himself being reflected back at him. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, reflecting what little light managed to make its way through the curtains in front of the windows. The walls themselves were occupied by giant mirrors with golden frames. Simon shuddered when he noticed that neither he nor Magnus had any reflection in them.

“They´re a defence mechanism,” Magnus explained. “Only creatures without souls are reflected in them. And then they´ll get destroyed.” Simon swallowed.

“Would a vampire have a reflection?” Simon wondered. Would Raphael be able to gaze upon himself in these mirrors?

“There has never been a vampire within these walls,” a female voice answered his question. Both, Simon and Magnus looked up to the other end of the hall where double-winged stairway led up to another door. Atop the stairway stood a woman of ageless beauty. She looked neither old nor young, glossy brown hair framing an aristocratic looking face with high cheekbones, thin red lips and grey eyes that mustered Magnus and Simon with something Simon couldn’t name. The woman´s lithe body was clothed into a white and unornamented gown that covered everything but yet left nothing to imagination. “The question if they have soul or not remains to be answered.”

“Tessa!” A smile formed on the woman´s face as she made her way down the stairs.

“It´s good to see you as well, Magnus,” she replied and allowed the Warlock to embrace her. When the embrace had ended, she turned towards Simon: “And you have to be Simon, our traveller displaced in time.”

“I am Simon….and I´m displaced in time, too, so there´s that,” Simon babbled and inwardly he screamed at himself to just stop talking, but his mouth did seem to have disconnected from his brain. Tessa just smirked.

“I see why you´ve taken a liking to him,” Tessa remarked. “He reminds me of…” A short flash of hurt crossed over her face before it settled again. “No use talking about that now. Follow me, the matters we have to discuss shouldn’t be aired in the hallway.” She beckoned for them to follow her and the turned around. They took the stairways and entered the long hallway which laid behind it until they reached a small lounging room, filled with small tables and comfortable looking armchairs and couches. Tessa took seat in one of them and indicated to them to sit down on the others.

“Tea?” she asked. “Biscuit?” Both Simon and Magnus shook their heads.

“Pity,” Thessa sighed. “So, Simon, Magnus told me what has transpired to you and I think I can help to shed some light on what exactly led to you being here, but I would rather hear your versions of events before I draw any conclusions. Try to remember every detail possible. After all, even the smallest of things could prove itself vital to solve your mystery.”

So Simon told her exactly what had happened to him. Of the strange black orb that he had found in the storage of the New York Institute, of the light that had engulfed him, of the otherworldly space in-between time that he had travelled through and of how he finally landed in 1953.

For a while Tessa didn’t say anything, just mustering him as if she was trying to find someone else in his features.

“I feared so,” she finally said. “I know what it is that transported you here.”

“What?” Simon wanted to know, holding back his breath in anticipation. “And how do I get back?”

“The answer to your last question is quite simple,” Tessa answered and suddenly her eyes were filled with a deep, unsettling sadness as she regarded Simon. “You don´t.”

* * *

  **Present**

* * *

Raphael was wandering aimlessly through the city, trying to distract himself from the endless worry that consumed him whenever he allowed himself to think too long. Simon was stranded in the past and he could do nothing to help his friend. He remembered how they had run through the streets of New York of 1953 and how exhilarating – _how freeing_ – it had felt and he wondered if Simon had managed to make him feel like that in his first days what else the Mundane would manage before they hopefully would get him back? What other memories would time unlock within his mind?

So absorbed into his thoughts Raphael was that he didn’t notice the elderly woman until he nearly crashed into her.

“I´m so sorry,” Raphael apologized, trying to steady the woman with one arm.

“Such a nice man,” she said, but then she looked up at him and her eyes widened.

“Raphael?” she spoke hesitantly, as if she had seen a ghost and didn’t dare to speak too loud, lest she chased him away. “Raphael Santiago?”

“How do you know who I am?” Raphael demanded to know, not caring that he let some of his vampire aura infuse into his voice. Funnily enough, it didn’t seem to have any effect on the woman.

“You don´t recognize me?” the woman asked, but then she laughed. “Of course not. Look at me; old, wrinkled, saggy, bogged down by the decades that have passed since the last time we saw each other while you still look the same as you did in ’53. But I guess, that comes with being a vampire, does it?”

“Who are you?” Raphael hissed.

“Don´t you recognize your old classmate anymore?” the woman quipped. “It´s me. Brittany Charlington.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought about how this series is going to end someday in the distant future and, man, did I come up with a fucked up and depressing ending. Still pondering if I should use it or not, though I have a thing for sadness which you would know if you´ve read my many, many MCD stories (to which a [Malec](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7101553/) one has been added) ;)


	6. Arc I: Solatium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has some stuff to work through (as does Clary) and Brittany begins to play a bigger role both in the past and the present. Raphael, meanwhile, just needs a hug...or several.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I have emerged from death!**...or finals, which - let´s be honest - is practically the same. Do you remember how I wrote that this would have 5 chapters at max? Well, I lied obviously :D
> 
> I don´t know how fast I´ll update, because while I may have vacation until October 4th I also have Netflix, Amazon Video and my parent´s brand new 65'' TV, so you can guess how I spend my free time **lol**

**1953**

* * *

The words hit Simon like a sledgehammer. The air left his lungs and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breath – like he was suffocating on what Tessa just had told him. His hands were shaking, he noticed distantly, but it didn’t felt like he could do anything against it. He looked at Tessa, her grey eyes looking at him with sorrow and pity and yet nothing that could make Simon believe that it was all a cruel joke at his expense. No tread of deceit nor cruelty. His gaze wandered to Magnus whose expression didn’t vary much from Tessa´s.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked with shaky voice. “I can´t…I can´t stay here. I have family – _friends_ – that I need to go back to. _I can´t stay here!_ ” His voice rose at the end of his rant and he knew that he sounded hysterical, but he couldn’t care less.

“Maybe I worded it wrong,” Tessa conceded. “You can go back, just not on your own violation.”

Simon stared at the woman. “What does that mean exactly?”

“This black orb that you described,” Tessa began, “is a powerful artefact that was thought to be lost many centuries ago. The Graiae´s Eye some call it.”

“Wait,” Simon interrupted. “Graiae, like in Greek mythology? Those three women that shared one eye and got played by Perseus?” Tessa nodded.

“Of course, as you are quite aware, it isn´t a literal eye,” she continued. “Some scholars think the Graiae, with their knowledge, are aspects of the Moirai – the Fates as they are called in the Western world – and intervene when they deem it necessary.” She looked at Simon with heavy gaze. “There´s no certainty as to whether or not they even exist. We only know that the Graiae´s Eye is a powerful device that appears to those that exert tremendous influence on events that have happened or are yet to come.” She paused for a moment. “It seems that the Graiae´s Eyes decided that you needed to be here in this year. Until you have fulfilled the task that is set before you there is no way back for you.”

“What task?!” Simon exclaimed exasperated. “That stupid football just transported me here and dissolved into golden glitter. It totally failed to give me any instructions. That´s worse than buying furniture from IKEA!” He let himself fall back onto the coupe and buried his face in his hands. For a few moments Simon did nothing but to breath, calming down his erratically beating heart and trying to fight the fear that was nearly overwhelming him. He couldn’t lose his head, not now, not ever.

“I´m sorry,” Tessa said and Simon believed her. She didn’t look like someone who would wish anyone ill, lest of all someone like Simon. “You will just have to continue here and hope that one day something you do will be what the Graiae´s Eye sent you here for. It is no easy burden to bear, but you wouldn’t have been chosen had you been unfit for the task.”

“That´s not really an encouragement,” Simon pointed out. “But thanks, I guess?” Tessa smiled at him.

“Our time together has come to an end, though,” she continued. “I have appointments to keep.” She stood up and made her way towards the door. For a moment she lingered in the doorway. “You will find the way out by yourselves, will you?”

“We will, Tessa,” Magnus replied and then the woman had already vanished into the hallway.

“She´s always so busy,” Magnus commented and shook his head. “It makes her looks important and mysterious, though, don’t you think?”

“It certainly adds some flair,” Simon agreed, then he began to nervously fidget with his fingers.

“It seems as if we are set to live together for yet quite a while,” Magnus said, noticing Simon´s nervousness.

“You let me stay?” Simon asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Did you think I was going to throw you out?” Magnus asked with raised eyebrows.

“No…I didn’t think anything,” Simon spluttered. “It´s just…you don’t really know me, do you? And now it looks like my stay has been extended infinitely instead of being for a few weeks top as it was originally assumed.”

“You´re not that bad,” Magnus replied. “Besides, you started organizing my library, you can brew potions and you speak Latin. That leaves me even more leisure time.” His lips widened into a grin.

“Your life already consists of nothing but ‘leisure time’, a day would have to have more than 24 hours for you to have even more,” Simon shot back and the familiarity of their banter made some of the pressure ease away. He may be stuck here, but at least he sorts of had two of his friends with him.

He could do that.

* * *

Raphael looked at Simon. The other boy was morosely gazing at the schoolyard from the elevated position on the stairs they were occupying. The whole day Simon had been in a mood and not even Brittany´s japes had been able to rouse him from it, making the girl storm off with an indignant huff. Not that Raphael complained – it was certainly an improvement – but the circle under Simon´s eyes and his bloodless lips spoke of some uneasy night his friend must have had.

Not that Raphael had fared any better. He still couldn’t believe that Ricky, one of his best friends had been brutally murdered. He would never hear another of his friend´s terrible jokes, never let him be persuaded to do something stupid again. Images of lifeless brown eyes, face contorted in pain and fear and of blood haunted him at night and tore him out of his sleep sweating and breathing heavily. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something, because every time he just thought about it he felt like he was going to get sick. Somehow it had never registered to him that the lives of him and his friends could be snuffed out so easily. Even though the world was nothing but unfair to them, they all had still held to that little shred of belief that nothing could stop them once they had set their mind on to something. They all had felt so invincible. And now that house of cards had come crumbling down on Raphael in the most brutal way possible.

They both probably looked like zombies.

What a pair they must make.  

“Everything alright?” Raphael asked Simon as he played with the apple he was holding in his handb but couldn’t bring himself to eat. “You don’t look very healthy.” Not that Raphael did any better.

“Had a bad night,” Simon confirmed Raphael´s assumptions. _Like me._

“Anything you want to share?” Raphael inquired. He really didn’t know how Simon would react. Maybe he would talk or maybe he wouldn’t want to share what was burdening him with another person.

“No, not really,” Simon replied, yet his lips curled into a faint smile. “But thanks for asking. Maybe later when…when I processed it myself.” A short moment of silence. “But you don’t look so good yourself either. Anything you want to share?”

Dread settled upon Raphael and for a short moment he debated whether he should tell Simon or not.

“A friend of mine,” he began, “got murdered.” Raphael looked up and saw Simon staring back at him solemnly.

“What happened?” Simon asked with sadness in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Raphael replied. “Nobody tells me anything.” He clenched his fists in an attempt to keep the anger, hurt and grief that was raging within him out of his voice. “My best friend dies and nobody will tell me anything. As if I´m a little child that needs to coddled.” Some of his anger must have seeped into his voice despite his attempt at concealing it for Simon looked at him in a way that Raphael couldn’t decipher.

“That sucks,” Simon commented. “I mean; I know how you feel. My dad died when in combat when I was five and everyone thought that I had to be, I don’t know, shielded from the truth or something. I´ve never heard so many euphemisms for dying as in the days following his death. So, for all that it´s worth, I won´t bother with useless condolences or telling you how ‘time´s gonna heal everything’ or some other shit. You know best how you wanna handle this.” Simon ended his rant and beamed at Raphael so obviously fake that the boy had to snort.

“Your concern is appreciated,” Raphael said.

“When is the burial gonna be?” Simon asked.

“You want to attend?” Raphael asked baffled.

“Of course!” Simone exclaimed. “He was the one who helped you carry me to your house, wasn’t he? And he was your friend. The least I can do is pay my respects by attending his funeral.” With newfound respect Raphael told him.

“As you are all aware,” Mr Devon began his lesson. “There will be a project that will account for 60 percent of your grade this year. Said project will be done in teams of two and be presented in two months.” Simon turned around to Raphael sitting next to him and gave him a thumbs up. They were so gonna rock that project. Mr Devon, though, wasn’t finished yet. “To foster relations between you and your class mates outside your circle of friends, these teams will be chosen by me.” A groan went through the whole class and Simon could swear that he saw Mr Devon trying to hide a smile behind that bushy moustache of his.

The teacher picked a piece of paper from his desk and began to read out loud the pairings he had decided on. Raphael was paired with some silent kid that Simon would have titled as ‘nerd’ if that term would have been in use already; his name Charles Ashton or something.

And then: “Charlington Brittany and Lewis Simon.”

 _“WHAT?!”_ two twin shouts echoed through the room. Simon turned around and saw the same horror and revulsion on Brittany´s face that must show on his own as well. Finally, something they could agree on.

“No discussion,” Mr Davis snapped and continued with his list. Unceremoniously, Simon let his head fall onto his desk. Maybe if he died right here on the spot he wouldn’t have to work with Brittany? It was definitely worth the contemplation.

“It´s not that bad,” Raphael tried to assuage him, patting Simon´s shoulder reassuringly. Simon just turned his head towards the other boy who looked like he was about to burst into a laughing fit and shot him what he hoped to be a very venomous stare. He obviously failed as Raphael´s grin just grew wider.

“I hate you,” Simon mumbled.

“Nah, you don´t,” Raphael shot back cheekily. “Besides, hate and passion are just two sides of the same coins, y´know?” Simon made a gagging noise.

“You have an evil and twisted mind, Raphael Santiago,” he cried out.

“If it´s any consolidation to you, your partner doesn’t seem to be that much enthused as well,” Raphael added smugly. Simon turned around and looked at Brittany who appeared to be trying to set him aflame with only the power of her mind.

Turning back to Raphael Simon said: “If I end up dead you´ll know who´s to blame.” At those words Raphael´s expression shot down and Simon could have hit himself for putting his feet into his mouth like that.

“Sorry,” he winced. “That was really insensitive. I´m an asshole, I know.”  

“No, you´re not,” Raphael contradicted him. “Any other time and it would have been funny.” They both looked back at Brittany. “Besides, she really looks like she would kill you.”

After Mr Davis had finished reading out his list, the lesson continued in the same vein as always and everyone was relieved when the bell finally ended their suffering. Simon and Raphael were about to leave the room when a sharp shout made them stop in their tracks.

“Lewis!”

Simon turned around only to see Brittany storming towards him. Breathing in deeply Simon steeled himself mentally for the confrontation that was certainly to come.

“How may I be of help?” he asked with the fakest smile he could muster.

“Listen up,” Brittany said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I´ll make Valedictorian this year and not even you will prevent that from happening. So, today at five pm you´ll find yourself at my address and we will start with our project because I want to have it finished as fast as possible so that I can wash my hands off you.” She pushed a piece of paper against Simon´s chest and without even bothering to wait for his reply she stalked off, leaving behind two very dumbfounded boys.

* * *

**Present**

* * *

The sounds of the city were nothing but a distant echo, as were the lights that shone bright across the river. The air was cool as it wafted over her skin and hair; soothing after the constricting narrowness of the City of Bones. Nothing was said between Clary and Jace as they sat at the shores of the Hudson River in some old, abandoned industrial complex. Clary´s feet were dangling down the pier and the soft gurgling of the water underneath her was a welcome distraction from the turmoil that raged within her.

Jace and her hadn’t spoken since the revelation that had upturned their world. Silently they had gone back to the graveyard and then – like Jace had known that she couldn’t face human interaction right now – he had led her to this place.

“It doesn’t change anything.” It was Clary who finally broke the silence. “Not for me. Whether Valentine is my father or not, he still has my mother and I´m gonna get her back.”

“How can it change nothing?” Jace exclaimed. “How can you be so calm about all this?”

“Because I don’t know Valentine, okay?” Clary replied. “Maybe you grew up with stories of the atrocities he committed, maybe you Shadowhunters have stories of him that you use to scare your children with, but to me the name Valentine invokes as much emotions as if I had been told that some random John Doe was my father.” She took a deep breath. “Intellectually I know that he is a bad man – at least from what you´ve told me – but emotionally I have no connection to him.”

Clary couldn’t remember how often she had wished that her mother would tell her about her father. Just a name, just a small piece of information – his hair colour, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, if he had loved her or just abandoned her without second thought – but her mother never spoke a single word about him. And now that she knew, she didn’t feel any different. She didn’t feel elation that she finally knew her who her father was and neither did she feel horror or disgust at his true identity.

Sometimes along the way the question of her origin had lost its importance. Clary had her mother, Luke and Simon and that was enough.

“He killed my father,” Jace said, barely above a whisper. “I was seven when he came and murdered him right in front of my eyes. The whole mansion went up in flames and they all thought that Valentine died within the inferno, but now that he is back –“ he paused, his face set in a grim expression and his fists clenched tightly “– now that he´s back I can finally avenge my father.”

“Does it change anything?” Clary asked, even though she feared the answer. She couldn’t lose Jace and the other Shadowhunters. They were her only chance at getting to know the world that should have been hers from the start but had been kept away from here for years. They had the resources and knowledge that she needed to get her mother – and Simon – back. She didn’t want to be alone with the knowledge that underneath the Mundane world that she had lived in was another, much more dangerous one.

“Of course not,” Jace replied. “Valentine may be your father, but his actions – _his sins_ – aren’t yours. You´re your own person.” She smiled at him and under the faint light from the city across the river she thought he was smiling at her as well.

* * *

“So, you´re telling me that blondie eloped with Clary to the City of Bones,” Magnus repeated incredulously. “There´s something very wrong with that boy, choosing that city over Vegas.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe the Silent Brothers offer strip-tease or officiate marriages.” Isabelle´s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at that comment.

“What we don´t know is why they´d go there,” Alec said.

“Oh, that´s not difficult,” Magnus replied flippantly. “They´re trying to get Clary´s memories back. They´ll fail, of course.”

“Why would Clary miss her memories?” Isabelle wanted to know. Magnus flippant expression turned into a more serious one.

“As you´re aware,” he began, “Clary´s mother tried to keep her from the Shadow World as long as she could. But she couldn’t prevent that Clary would catch a glimpse of it every now and then. So she came to me and asked me to place an enchantment on her daughter that would make her forget what she´d seen the moment she´d see it.”

“That´s some heavy magic you did,” Isabelle commented. “Some would say even morally ambiguous.”

“Well, these people weren´t there when a distraught woman begged you for it, were they?” Magnus snapped.

“Whoah, whoah,” Alec forced himself between his sister and the enraged warlock. “We´re not here to judge anyone. We´re here to get Simon and the girl –“ “ _Clary!_ ” “– back, seeing as we currently cannot get back your mundane friend.” Alec gave both his sister and the warlock his sternest glare and to even his amazement both caved in.

“Where´re they at?” Magnus asked. Isabelle looked down on her smartphone.

“The piers,” she replied after a while.

“Then let´s get them,” Alec commanded.

* * *

Raphael stared dumbfounded at the old woman that just had revealed that she was his old class mate. Of all the unexpected things he could think of, this was the least expected one. He didn’t know what to say and so he just stared at Brittany until she began to chuckle.

“Time has done nothing for your eloquence, hasn´t it?” she commented. She lifted her shopping bags from the ground and pushed them onto Raphael. “Be a nice man and help an old lady with her bags, will you?” Then she began to continue walking, obviously expecting Raphael to follow her, which he did with a little delay.

“How do you know about me?” he asked after he caught up with Brittany, which wasn’t that difficult, seeing as she was an elder woman and he a supernatural creature of the night. “And how dare you expecting me to carry your bags? I have better things to do!” he added with as much venom as he could muster. Brittany just chuckled.

“Please,” she replied, “the only thing you were busy with was moping on the streets. I did you a service.” Having nothing to say to that Raphael continued to follow Brittany down the street. As much as it rankled him, she was right: He had nothing better to do right now. The clan was warned; Magnus was working at a solution to get Simon back for which he didn’t need Raphael and Simon was with past!him, so he had really nothing better to do than carrying Brittany´s groceries. Besides, his curiosity had been roused; how did Brittany know about him? To what other information was she privy to? He couldn’t just turn away when the answers to that question laid within his reach. He could suffer through the indignity of being reduced to a page.

Finally, they reached what seemed to be the apartment complex Brittany lived in. It wasn’t very upper-class like Rapahel had expected of someone like Brittany but it wasn’t shabby either.

“Miss Charlington!” a little black boy exclaimed and ran towards the woman. Raphael supressed a wince because he was pretty sure that time hadn’t hollowed out Brittany´s 50ies-attitude. Again he was surprised, though, when Brittany just smiled brightly at the boy.

“Luke, how are things going in school?” she asked and she seemed to be genuine as far as Raphael could tell.

“Ms Wenston really loved my presentation!” the boy exclaimed excitedly. “I got an A!”

“That is awesome,” Brittany praised the boy and he seemed to possible preen under the older woman´s attention. “But shouldn’t you be in bed already?” The boy mumbled something unintelligible and Brittany just stared at him disapprovingly.

“I´m very happy that you were here to greet me,” she continued, “but tomorrow´s a school day and you don´t want to fall asleep in Ms Wenston´s class, do you?” The boy´s eyes widened in horror and with a garbled shout of good-bye he had already vanished behind the door.

“Ah, children,” Brittany sighed. “What?” she asked when she noticed Raphael´s incredulous expression. “Really, Raphael, you didn’t think that I grew out of the world view that was imprinted upon me by a society that no longer exists?”

Their elevator ride after that was awkward and Raphael had never been happier to leave the restricting space as he was now.

“Put the bags into the kitchen, will you?” Brittany commanded after she had unlocked her door. Raphael didn’t know what he had expected from the space his former school bully inhabited, it definitely wasn’t every surface covered with books. He could barely spot the furniture underneath and some of his surprise must have shown on his face for Brittany just shook her head fondly.

“It wasn’t exactly like that before,” she explained. “The books started to appear a few days ago along with the memories associated with them. I remember this one –“ she picked an thick tomb from one of the numerous piles “– I bought it from some Warlock in India in 67 after I helped him dealing with some vampires that kept harassing him.” She chuckled. “I never wanted to go to India, or any of the other countries I´ve been and got these books from, but apparently I did. I have the memories, after all. Some of it is still missing, though. But you would know that, wouldn’t you?”

Raphael didn’t answer her, instead walked into Brittany´s kitchen and put her bags on one of the few free surfaces in her apartment. When he walked back, Brittany was standing in her living room, staring at the picture frames atop a fake fireplace mantle.

“It´s disconnecting, isn’t it?” Brittany remarked. “This process of having your old live replaced by a new one, but knowing that your old one has never existed in the first place? I locked myself in for the first day before I admitted to myself that I don’t want to know what my old life was like because it couldn’t possibly be better than what I have now, y´know?” Raphael could only nod silently.

“So, how do you know about the Shadow World?” he asked her.

“I don’t know…yet,” Brittany answered. “But I think it will be revealed soon.” Raphael let his gaze slide over the pictures. There were many different scenes, but all had in common that they were of Brittany in exotic places: some jungle, the Taj Mahal, the pyramids, some oriental looking bazaar. And in each of them she proudly held a book into the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To calm you down, I´ve already forgotten the sad as fuck ending that I mentioned in the author notes a few chapters ago. I also should really start the list with the things that already happened because I spent half of the time for this chapter re-reading the story so that I wouldn´t write something that would contradict what I wrote before.


	7. Arc I: Oppugnatio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Raphael share a bed, Simon and Brittany share their mutual distaste for each other and a rough vampire shares his nasty smelling body odour. Not necessarily in that order, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saphael *winks*
> 
> **WARNING: Graphic Depiction of Gore**

**1953**

* * *

Brittany´s house was situated in a better part of the city. If you could even call it ‘house’ anymore. Simon was more partial towards ‘mansion’. The whole grounds were surrounded by an iron-fence whose end Simon couldn’t even see, so vast was the estate that it protected. There was a gravel driveway that led up all the way to the mansion, with a guardhouse at the entrance where a bored looking doormen was browsing through some newspaper. The whole thing extruded wealth and Simon felt very uncomfortable around it.

“Are you sure that we´re right?” Magnus asked, leaning through the window of his car. “Because, damn, you sure know how to make friends in the right places.” Simon grimaced.

“I wouldn’t say that we´re friends,” he replied diplomatically. Magnus just snorted.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I´m gonna drive up to a friend in Connecticut and I´ll probably be back in two days. You sure that you´ll survive without me?”

“I shall endure,” Simon deadpanned.

“Here´s some money for a cab.” Magnus handed him over a few bills. “Wish you fun!” And then, with a loud flare-up of the engine, he drove away. Simon continued standing on the sidewalk until Magnus vanished around the corner and then turned around towards Brittany´s mansion.

“Eh, excuse me?” The doorman looked at him over the edge of his newspaper. “I´m Simon Lewis, a classmate of Brittany.”

“I´ll announce you.” The guard stood up and went to a small telephone that hung on the wall. Simon wasn’t able to make out what he was saying, but when the doorman came back after a few moments he beckoned for Simon to just walk up the driveway.

Brittany was already waiting in the doorway, one foot tapping impatiently on the ground, while she looked at Simon as if she had eaten something bad.

“You´re late,” she announced. Simon rolled his eyes at her.

“No, I´m not,” he contradicted her. Brittany stepped aside and let him inside, closing the door behind him.

“My parents aren’t here,” she remarked which made Simon raise his eyebrows.

“They allow you to meet me without supervision?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Of course not,” Brittany replied, and Simon was sure that she would have rolled her eyes at him if she didn’t think that gesture to be beneath her. “James, our butler, is here and he´ll check up on us periodically.”

“Of course you have a butler,” Simon snorted. Brittany didn’t reply anything to his comment, instead taking the staircase and obviously expecting Simon to follow her. Arriving on the first floor Simon was led through a long hallway with countless pictures of picturesque landscapes hanging on the wall. Their frames glimmered golden and if Brittany´s parents were anything like her, it probably _was_ real gold as well. _Rich people_ , Simon scoffed inwardly.

“Don’t touch them,” Brittany warned him when she saw eying one of the pictures. “Each of them is worth more than you´ll ever earn in your life.” Simon very much doubted that statement but he didn’t say anything. He also didn’t point out that a single picture out of Magnus’ collection was definitely enough to buy out the complete Charlington fortune, because Brittany probably – _definitely_ – wouldn’t appreciate it. It made Simon smile, though.

Brittany´s room was as big as Clary´s whole flat back in present New York had been. There was a big alcove with a glass front that overlooked the whole garden behind the mansion. A four poster bed filled out the right half of the room, with several book shelves and cabinets for the rest. Everything was coloured in different hues of green and brown, which gave the room a homey atmosphere. As painful as it was for Simon to admit it, Brittany – or whoever had furnished her room – had great taste. If he didn’t dislike the girl so much, Simon would be pretty envious.

“You still remember our topic,” Brittany asked.

“Contrary to what you might think, I´m not stupid,” Simon sneered at her. “Our topic is _The Roman Empire and its socio-political impact on Western civilisation_.”  

“I´ve taken these books from our library,” Brittany explained and pointed at the pile in the middle of her room. “If we need anything else, we´ll have to go to the _public_ library tomorrow.” With one graceful move she sat down cross-legged on the ground and took the first book on the pile. Simon followed suit.

“Do you think you´ll manage?” Brittany jeered. Simon just ignored her and flipped his book open. That was going to suck, he bemoaned inwardly. You didn’t appreciate Google enough until you had to search through several issues of lexica that weighed more than a baby.

They worked side by side in silence, going through the books and noting down anything useful. The only sound one could hear was the scraping of pens on paper and their breathing.

“Can I have something to drink?” Simon asked after a while.

“Sure,” Brittany replied without bothering to look up from her text. “Either go to the kitchen or ask James.”

“And where would I find either of them?” Simon wanted to know.

“That´s for you to find out,” Brittany taunted.

Fuming, Simon made his way downstairs. Every hallway looked nearly identical and even though curiosity gnawed at his insides, Simon knew better than to just open every door and look what was behind it. After all, that was a fool proof way of discovering secrets that would only get you killed. In all fairness, though, Simon didn’t believe that Brittany´s family had any secrets to kill someone over; they probably were much too boring for it.

“James?” Simon called out into the house. The butler would surely be able to direct him towards the kitchen. He probably knew the house better than the actual owners.

“James?” Simon called again, but there was no response. Suddenly the silence that lingered over the hallways didn’t appear so benign anymore, instead turning into a suffocating blanket that laid itself about Simon. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears like a cannon firing and the breath that escaped his lips sounded too loud, as if a thunderstorm was trying to escape his lungs.

Slowly, Simon took the last step down the stairs and had to supress a wince when the last step let out a loud creak. The whole house seemed somehow hostile, as if it just waited for him to take one wrong turn.

“James?” Simon proceeded to call out, this time quieter, though. He took the first turn left and made his way down the hallway. The hangings on the wall weren’t as ostentatious as in the rest of the house, the lamps lacked their golden frames and there were no pictures hanging on the wall, so Simon assumed that it led to the servant and utility tract of the mansion.

At the end of the hallway, Simon could recognize a metal door. It stood ajar a little bit, just enough that he could recognize that there was no light behind it. Just a gap of darkness. Suddenly Simon wasn’t really sure if he still wanted something to drink, but the thought of returning to Brittany´s room empty handed with the pathetic excuse of her house having scared him, enabled him to gather his last remnants of courage and to push the door open.

The little light from the hallway that pierced through the darkness was just enough for Simon to make out the shapes of several counters that were placed in a row. Pots, pans and other associated kitchen appliances were scattered all over them, so it was not difficult to guess that Simon had indeed found the kitchen.

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

The sound of drops crashing on metal tore through the malign silence. Simon´s head whipped around, but in the dark he couldn’t make out where it had come from.

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

_Where´s the fucking light switch?_ Simon cursed inwardly as he let his hands roam over the wall next to the door. Something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he had to shiver, even though it was rather warm in the room.

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

Finally, Simon´s fingers ran over a bump in the otherwise smooth surface of the wall and with palpable relief he switched on the light. With the characteristic buzz of electricity one by one the lamps on the ceiling came to life, flickering at first but then illuminating the room in steady, warm yellow light.

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

Brittany better thank him that Simon spared her the horrendously high water bill, Simon thought to himself, because a dropping faucet was not a thing to be taken lightly. As he turned around, though, faulty kitchen appliances were the last thing on Simon´s mind as a horrified gasp escaped his lips. 

There, on one of the metal counter surfaces, laid James – or rather what was left of him. His face was contorted into an ugly grimace of horror, his mouth opened into a silent scream of pain that no one would ever hear. His eyes were dull and lifeless, bereft of any light that normally shone in every living being, but Simon could still see imprint of the all-consuming fear the man must have felt in the moments of his death.

James’ face was the only part of his body left undamaged. A giant hole had been torn into his throat, so that the only thing connecting the man´s head with the rest of his body was his spine. Blood was still pouring out of the wound, small trickles only, tickling down the side of the counter until it dropped into the red puddle on the ground.

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

Even worse was his chest. Simon nearly had to throw up when he saw what looked like a miniature bomb having blown up in the butler´s rip cage. Bits of flesh and bones were scattered all over the counter, rips poking out of the chest in unnatural angles. And – _Oh my God, please, please, don´t let it be that, please_ – there a few inches away from his body a heart was lying. A human heart with bits torn out by what looked like sharp fangs.

And, like he had suddenly been plunged under an ice cold waterfall, Simon realized what had happened. What had killed the man and what was still lurking in the house, going after his prey.

“Vampire,” he whispered, his eyes widening in horror. Faster than he had ever thought he could be, he ran back the way he had come, nearly running past the stairs and then taking two or three steps at once. Simon had only one destination in mind and with single-minded focus he ran towards it, hoping that he wasn’t too late.

The door to Brittany´s room stood wide ajar and Simon wasted no time running over the threshold. The sight that laid itself bare in front of him, made his breath stuck in his throat.

Brittany was cowering in the corner of her room, her face distorted into a mask of fear. The man – _the vampire_ – was standing in front of her, back towards Simon and was slowly advancing towards the defenceless girl. Simon couldn’t make out much of him; the vampire was gangly, his black and brown clothes torn and dirty, his grey hair dishevelled and greasy.

The vampire took a swipe at Brittany and the girl whimpered in fear. He was just playing with her, gorging himself on the fear Brittany was emitting in waves. No sane vampire would act like that, treat his prey so carelessly. The vampire was more keen on the chase than on actual sustenance, Simon realized.

“Hey, dipshit!” Simon called out. Without thinking, he took one of Brittany´s vanity cases from her dresser and threw it at the vampire´s head. Like a snake, the monster coiled around and hissed at him. His eyes were completely black, the veins around it protruding in the same colour. Blood – James’ blood – still dropped from his extended fangs and his whole face was besmirched with the red substance.

“Another one to play,” the vampire hissed. “Another one to tear, to rip, to kill, to _eat_.” The vampire staggered towards him, so high on blood that he didn’t even managed to utilize his super-human speed.

“Come to play,” the man cajoled. A wave of disgusting smell emitting from the vampire hit Simon´s nostrils – sweat, shit, urine, blood, flesh – and he had to gag. Simon stumbled back, trying to escape the vampire´s claw like fingers. He really didn’t think this whole rescuing plan through, a small voice in his mind told Simon, but he made it shut up. 

Simon´s back jolted against something and he knew that it was the wall of Brittany´s room. There was no escape. His hands were roaming over the wall, desperately trying to grasp something – anything – that he could use against the vampire that was only a few arm lengths away from him.

There! Something. Simon gripped the object and tore it from the wall. He looked down on it and nearly wept in joy: a wooden cross. Simon straightened his posture and allowed calmness to settle over him. The vampire continued to move forwards, spittle dripping from his mouth. And when he had nearly reached his position, Simon raised his arm and extended the cross right at the vampire.

The man howled in pain when Simon suddenly flashed the cross at him and staggered backwards, arms flailing uncontrolled. Every time he tried to regain his bearings, Simon took a step forwards and pushed the cross at his face again.

“It hurts!” the vampire moaned. “Make it stop! Make it stop!” But Simon didn’t stop. Like vengeance himself he advanced further and further on the vampire, relishing in the pain he was inflicting on the wretched creature, until he had the monster cornered in front of Brittany´s windows. Without so much as blinking, the vampire threw himself through the glass.

The glass shattered, thousand shards scattering in every direction, the sound echoing through the sudden silence they found themselves in. Simon ran towards the opening, looking downwards, but the last thing he saw was the vampire hushing out of the cone of light the house´s lighting was throwing on the grass, finding escape in the darkness that shrouded the mansion.

To any onlooker it must have looked strange; Simon standing there in front of a broken window, cross in one hand, breathing heavily, splatters of blood on his face, but the boy didn’t have much time for contemplating such thoughts. Brittany´s snivelling tore him out of his reverie.

“Brittany.” Simon took the girl by her shoulders and tried to calm her down. “Brittany, everything´s alright, do you understand.” She just looked at him, her eyes still wide in shock.

“The bad guy…I chased him away,” Simon tried to explain. “He cannot longer hurt you.” He took a deep breath.

“Brittany,” he continued, “I´m gonna call the police. When they ask, we´ll tell them that someone broke into the mansion and tried to kill us. Nothing more. If they ask you for details, you can´t remember. Do you understand.” Brittany just continued staring at him in confusion. “Do you understand?” Simon shook her shoulders. He didn’t want to handle her like this – _he truly didn’t_ – but the circumstances were forcing his hand.

“Yes,” Brittany finally replied, her voice husky, small and broken. “I understand.”

* * *

Blue and red lights flashed over the Charlington´s grounds, turning the former calm and peaceful atmosphere hectic and stressful. The police had arrived only a few minutes after Simon´s call, sirens blazing and ambulance in tow. Brittany had been checked for injuries and treated for the shock she still suffered immediately, while the police officers started to cordon the crime relevant scene off with yellow tape. Two detectives in civilian clothing had instantly started to question Simon about what had happened. He stuck to his story of a home invader killing James and then trying to kill Brittany and himself.

“Why would a home invader carve the butler´s heart out?” the older detective, white hair, bowler, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, asked sceptically.

“I don´t know, maybe ask him instead of me,” Simon snarked at the detectives, which earned him a disapproving glare from both of them. Apparently they were used to a different level of respect. Out of the corner of his eye Simon noticed two people ducking under the police tape and running towards the open ambulance where Brittany was sitting. Apparently Mr and Ms Charlington had arrived.

“Look,” Simon started again, trying to sound more respectful. “I´ve already told you everything I know. No matter how often you ask, it won´t change anything.” The other detective closed his notebook with a clap and sighed.

“The kid´s right, Ernie,” he said to his colleague. “Questioning him won´t bring us any further.” Ernie took one last draw from his cigarette and threw it on the ground, stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.

“You´ll keep yourself available for further questioning, will you?” Ernie told Simon and it was more of a command than a question. Simon nodded and the two detectives walked away from him towards one of the members of the CSI-unit. He let out a breath of relief that he hadn’t realized he had been holding and looked up into the night sky for it was the only direction in which peace could be found.

A crazy vampire, Simon thought and shook his head. He would have to tell Magnus. The local Shadowhunters needed to be made aware of the monster lurking in the city. Simon was well aware of his limitations and going after a rouge vampire by himself was so far outside his abilities that it wasn’t funny anymore. Idly, Simon wondered who was leading the New York Institute right now. He would probably never know, but the speculation kept him from thinking back on what had happened.

“Mr Lewis,” a voice boomed from behind him. Simon turned around and saw Brittany with her parents walking towards him. He inclined his head towards the sturdy man and offered a slight smile to Brittany´s mother.

“We´ve heard that it was you who saved our daughter,” Mr Charlington said. “And we wanted to express our uttermost gratitude towards you. I don’t even dare to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.” He shook his head. “Terrible business, indeed. Poor James. Such a loyal soul.” Simon didn’t say anything, recognising a man that wanted to get something off his soul when he saw one.

“If you ever need something, never hesitate to ask,” Mr Charlington said. “This family will be forever indebted to you.”

 _Maybe your generosity should extend further than just me_ , Simon thought viciously, but only to himself. _To busy spreading hate and prejudice. I wonder where your daughter got her attitude from?_ And yet, he didn’t say it out loud.

“That’s very generous of you,” Simon chose to reply instead. Ms Charlington stepped forward and clasped his hand in hers, her eyes full of tears shed and unshed. She tried to say something, but the only words that made it past her lips was a stuttered ‘Thank you’ before her husband ushered the distraught woman away, leaving Simon in the company of Brittany. The shock and horror still lingered in her eyes, but now there was also calculation and curiosity in those blue depths.

“What happened really?” Three words, one small question, but nevertheless they managed to make Simon flounder awkwardly.

“There was a home invader,” he tried his well-used story, but it failed to convince Brittany.

“Bullshit,” she hissed and if the situation wasn’t so dire, Simon would have laughed at her use of such an unladylike word. “We both know what we saw and it was not a failed home invasion. That ma- that thing had fangs, its eyes were black and it tried _to eat me!_ ” She gripped Simon´s arms so tightly that he was sure that it would bruise until tomorrow. “You knew what it was. You knew that the cross would chase it away.”

“Do you really want to continue this?” Simon asked full of gravitas. Brittany opened her mouth, but Simon continued before she could utter a single word. “Think hard about it. Right now you can still go back to your old life, believing the story of a failed invasion. You can go back, finish school, marry whoever your father choses for you, bear him two to three children. You can continue being the bigot I know you are, discarding the fact that the world is changing – and changing fast – until these changes overrun you and leave you behind alone and bitter. Because if you truly want to know, once you do you´ll never be able to go back to your white-picket-fence live. It will stay with you forever and won´t ever let go of you. Never.” Brittany looked at him, weighing his words, but Simon knew that his words wouldn’t change anything.

Because he had been there once as well; on this crossroad of his life. And he hadn’t chosen the picket fence either.

“Tell me.”

* * *

Cautious, Raphael opened the door _(because who the hell would knock at their door at 2 in the morning)_ only to take a surprised step back when it was Simon on the other side of the threshold. He looked ruffled and exhausted and…

“Is that blood?” Raphael demanded to know when he noticed the splatters in Simon´s face that shone traitorously red in the dim light from the street.

“It may be?” Simon shrugged. With an exasperated sigh, Raphael hauled the other boy into their house and closed the door behind him.

“Raphael, who is it?” his mother called from upstairs.

“Simon!” he shouted back. He heard rustling and creaking and then his mother made her way down the stairs, clothed in nothing but her slippers and a night gown, pin curlers in her hair. If Raphael was honest it was a truly terrifying sight, but Simon didn’t even bat an eyelash. When his mother saw the state Simon was in, her gaze softened immediately and Raphael could tell that she would go all Momma Bear on his friend.

“You look like death warmed over,” she commented. Simon laughed at that, a dry and hollow sound. “Let´s make you some hot cacao, that´ll surely lift your spirits.” She steered him and Simon into the kitchen and immediately started with her preparations.

“What happened?” Raphael asked after both boys had sat down at their table.

“I was at Brittany´s,” Simon started and Raphael grimaced. Nothing worse than having to spend time with that frigid bitch. “We were more or less making progress with our project when someone broke into her house.” Simon swallowed. “He killed their butler and then…he tried to kill us, too. I managed to chase him away, but…I found him, you know? The butler. He was laying in his own blood.”

Raphael heard his mother gasp in horror and heard the crack of one of their cups escaping her hand and landing on the kitchen counter. Raphael, in turn, just stared at Simon, not really knowing how he could show his support.

“I just don’t want to be alone,” Simon added and he looked at them as if he was expecting a scolding for what he thought to be weakness.

“Where´s your uncle?” Raphael heard himself asking, fury so deep that it scared him suddenly engulfing him. How could that man leave Simon alone when he obviously needed him the most? What kind of family does that to their members?

“He´s away doing business,” Simon told them silently. “I haven’t reached him yet.”

“Of course you can stay, Simon,” his mother told the boy. “You shouldn’t be alone. Raphael has some space for you in his room.”

“Yeah,” Raphael added, “only if you don’t mind sharing a bed, though. My friends and I do it all the time.”

“You will not try to smuggle a Bunsen burner up your room, do you understand me?!” his mother intoned in mock-seriousness. Raphael held his hands up in surrender.

“It was Andrew´s idea,” he said, throwing his best friend under the bus. Every man for himself when it came to his mother´s ire.

“Why did you try to smuggle a Bunsen burner up to your room?” Simon asked incredulously.

“We wanted to make us some marshmallows,” Raphael admitted sheepishly.

“Where did you even get a Bunsen burner from?” Simon continued asking with raised eyebrows.

“Andrew´s dad works at construction,” Raphael answered him.

“Nearly set the whole house ablaze,” his mother grumbled without any heat behind her words. A small smile graced Simon´s face and Raphael knew that his mother had achieved her goal of distracting Simon from the horrors he had witnessed.

“Here´s your cacao.” She handed the cup over to Simon. “I´m gonna go back to sleep. If you need anything –“ this was more directed towards Simon than to Raphael “– don’t hesitate to wake me.” With that she exited the room, leaving the boys to themselves. For a while neither of them said anything, Simon sipping on his cacao, Raphael absentmindedly fidgeting with his fingers.

“My room´s upstairs,” Raphael commented when he noticed that Simon´s cup was empty. “Do you think you´re gonna be able to sleep?”

“I have to,” was Simon´s reply. Raphael wanted to say something encouraging, but he didn’t know what or how, so he just kept quiet and led Simon up the stairs, past the room of his siblings to his own. Raphael was aware that it wasn’t much – a bed, a desk and a few book shelves filled with comics – and that Simon was probably used to higher standards. The other boy, though, didn’t even lift an eyebrow at Raphael´s spartanly furnished room, instead making a straight line to his comics.

“I never knew you were a DC fan,” he exclaimed as he browsed through Raphael´s collection.

“Now you do,” Raphael shrugged. “I´m gonna get you some bedclothes.” Simon nodded and continued to rummage through his shelves.

Later, Raphael switched off the light and darkness engulfed them. For a while nothing but their breathing disrupted the silence the room was immersed in.

“Can you tell me a story?” Raphael heard Simon asking. He couldn’t see the other boy in the darkness, but he imagined that he was looking at him.

“What do you want to hear?” Raphael asked.

“I don’t care,” Simon replied. “As long as it keeps me awake. I close my eyes and all I see is blood pouring from everywhere. I see the butler´s face; his eyes are looking at me, accusing me, blaming me. I can see his heart beating in his open chest, his broken fingers trying to grasp after me.” A short pause. “I don´t care what you tell me, Raphael, just keep me awake.”

And so Raphael spoke. He didn’t know what he was speaking about or how long he laid there, staring at the ceiling that was hidden behind the darkness, filling the silence with his voice, but he spoke nevertheless because Simon asked him to. He spoke to chase the pictures away, to keep the darkness at bay and to give his friend a small bit of peace; the only thing Raphael was capable of giving.

When his voice was hoarse, his throat dry and he stopped speaking the only sound Raphael could hear was the gentle breathing of a sleeping Simon.


	8. Arc I: Funus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon attends a funeral with Raphael while Brittany travels to Jakarta and the underground of New York. Not necessarily in the same year, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was bored over the weekend, so here´s another chapter ^^ 
> 
> Time lines are slowly beginning to converge, which is why it´s confusing the hell out of me trying to keep everything in order.

**1967**

* * *

The market was abuzz with activity. Vendor owners were trying to drown out their competition, loudly praising the virtues of their own products while the sun was searing down on them from above. People where mingling in the narrow aisles between the stands, browsing through the various exotic goods that were offered to them. Women in peregrine, colourful clothing – Sari, Kimono, Hijab – their laughter blending with the shouting of the men. Children were running between the adults, skilfully manoeuvring between them, much to some of the adult´s dismay. The air itself was filled with all kind of smells, from cinnamon over curry to the fresh odour of peaches and avocados and the incense some vendors burnt to keep insects away from their product.

To a Westerner the main market of Jakarta was something truly otherworldly.

Apart from the throng of people, under a white baldachin, sipping on her coffee – a strong one, not the weak brew that was offered in her home town – sat a woman. Every now and then her hand would wander to the back of her head where her blonde curls were fixed into a tight bun, controlling if there was a single strand of hair out of place. Her eyes would wander over the crowd as if they were searching for someone – _or something_ – before they would drop down back on the newspaper that was folded in her lap.

**ISRAELI ATTACK ON SYRIA**

The woman didn’t seem to be very interested in the current events, for she seemed to only skim over the black, Latin letters. It was also strange to note that – while every other place in front of the little coffee house was taken – the one next to her was not. As if the woman was extruding such an intimidating aura that no one dared to sit down next to her.

The woman sighed and turned the page.

Her contact was already over an hour late. She wondered if something happened to him; something nefarious; and if she should just skip town or even the country and come back later. Her line of work was a dangerous one after all, even more so if you took into account what the other players in the field were capable of. The woman shook her head energetically, banishing such thoughts from her mind. She had come this far; she wouldn’t give up now.

It was at exact this moment of renewed commitment that someone walked up to where she was sitting and took the place next to her. A man, young – probably around twenty – and of similar appearance like most of the visitors of the market but clothed in fabric that one could tell from one single glance at them were probably very expensive.

“You´re late,” the woman remarked without even greeting the man who just shrugged in response to her admonishment.

“I ran into some problems,” he told the woman.

“I knew this wasn’t going to be easy,” the woman sighed, rubbing her temple. “But I had thought we´d have more time than that before someone interfered.”

“A prized object like you´re after draws many coveting gazes,” the man commented sagely. “Luckily for you, though, I was able to acquire what you wanted.” The woman smiled at the man, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth.

“I´ve never doubted you, Magnus,” she said.

“I´d be very affronted if you had,” Magnus tsk-ed. “After all, you should know that I always deliver on my promises, Brittany.”

* * *

**1953**

* * *

It was the sunlight streaming through the blinds that woke Simon up. That and the solid presence of someone he was clinging to. Opening his eyes Simon noticed that it was Raphael´s arm he was clinging to and that his face was barely a few inches away from the other boy´s head. If Simon breathed out hard enough he could probably make Raphael´s lashes flutter.

Simon had read enough fanfiction to know where this would be going if he was in one. He would marvel at Raphael´s face until he would open his eyes into Simon´s and then they would make out. But there were a few things that spoke against such thing happening, first and foremost the fact that Raphael wasn’t gay, Simon not in love with him and the fact that upon discovering his position Simon flailed so much that he fell out of the bed and on the ground with a loud thud.

“Ow,” Simon cursed.

“Do you wake up like this every morning?” Raphael asked. He yawned and then stretched his arms, revealing some unblemished and toned skin which Simon did not look at. At all.

“The floor is the stable support I can always count on, so the least I can do is show my appreciation,” Simon said and struck out his tongue. Raphael just rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at him which hit Simon right in the face.

“ _Et tu_ , Raphael,” Simon exclaimed in mock-hurt, clasping his chest with his right hand. “Your dastardly deed shall not go unpunished.” With that bold declaration, Simon picked up the pillow from the ground and threw it at Raphael with all of his might. Raphael, though, was able to block Simon´s attack with a second pillow, which left Simon unarmed and him ready to retaliate. It was in this moment that the door to Raphael´s room was opened by Raphael´s mother who looked at them with fond exasperation.

“It´s 9am,” she told Raphael. “The funeral will be in an hour.” Instantly the mood in the room went from cheerful and carefree to oppressing and sombre.

“You still want to come?” Raphael asked Simon. “You don’t have to after what happened yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “I have to. It´s the least I can do; you know?” He stood up and dusted some imaginary dirt from his clothes. “But I should go back to Magnus and change.”

“See you later,” Raphael said and then Simon was already out of the door.

* * *

Simon felt completely out of place at Ricky´s funeral.

What he had said to Raphael had been nothing but the truth. He may not have known Ricky, but the fact that the boy had helped Raphael getting Simon to safety when he had first arrived in the past made him feel obliged to pay his respects, even though Simon was very much saddened by the fact that it would be to a dead person and not a living one.

It didn’t change the fact, though, that Simon just didn’t belong. The people attending the funeral – family, relatives and friends – weren’t shabby and had donned their best attire but you could still see that their best was a far cry from what Simon was used to. Mismatching buttons, clothes too big or small for the children who wore their older sibling’s hand-me-downs, threadbare jackets and jewellery that glittered fake in the faint sunlight.

And then there was Simon in one of the best suits he had been able to find in one of Magnus’ closets, with black shoes shinning bright, brilliantly white shirt, made of silk that felt and looked like it had been tailored right on his body (Magnus’ magic probably).

Simon felt like he was imposing on them, shoving his lack of material worry down their throats and hated himself for his insensitiveness. His family was well-situated middle class, while Magnus and his Raphael were so rich (or at least in Raphael´s case his clan) that they could afford every amenity they wanted. Simon had never faced destituteness such as this. He had this picture of his Raphael in mind – expensive suits and footwear – and had applied it to the Raphael he was with now, completely overlooking that he too wasn’t as well off as Simon had believed.

“Simon.” Simon turned around to see Raphael waking towards him. He, too, wore a suit and a freshly ironed white shirt underneath it. It made him look a little bit more like the Raphael Simon knew from his time and it made his heart ache with longing. He missed them all – Magnus, Raphael, Clary – and he couldn’t wait to get back to them.

“Let me introduce you to my brothers,” Raphael said and pushed two boys forward that looked like carbon copies of the himself.

“That´s Martín,” he said, pointing to the older one, “and that´s David.”

“Nice to meet you,” Simon greeted them, but the two boys just stared at him without saying a word. Before he could say anything, though, the two boys dashed past him – nearly making him fall over – and hid under their mother´s arms who stood a few meters behind them.

“Sorry,” Raphael apologized and scraped that back of his head. “It´s their first funeral. And they really liked Ricky…” He shrugged, letting Simon figure out the rest.

“Hey Raph.” They both turned around to see two boys walking towards them. One of them was pale and lanky, freckles adorning his whole face and red hair nearly as bright as Clary´s while the other was of Hispanic ethnicity with curly brown hair and eyes of the same dark colour.

“Andrew, Diego,” Raphael greeted the two boys with a nod that was reciprocated by them. “That´s Simon.”

“The guy we knocked out with a football?” Andrew drawled.

“Yeah, that one,” Simon replied.

“That was awesome!” Andrew exclaimed. “I mean, not you being knocked out, that was not so good, but the rest! It was like straight out of a Hollywood comedy.” He laughed again and Simon couldn’t help but smile faintly as well. Andrew´s bubbly personality was kind of contagious.

“What is a gringo doing here?” Diego interrupted. “Here to get yourself off of our poverty? Feeling good in a suit that´s worth more than any of us makes in a year?” Momentarily at loss as to what to say, Simon just stared at the other boy dumbstruck.

“Excuse me?!” Simon finally found his voice again and now that he had he was furious. “How dare you! My grandparents came to the US from Columbia and just because I don’t look like it doesn’t mean you have any right to debase me or my ancestry like that!”

“Diego…” Raphael started, but he was interrupted by the other boy.

“What were you thinking bringing someone like him here?” Diego demanded to know. Turning to Simon he sneered: “You don’t belong here.” And without bothering to wait for any of them to reply, he turned around and walked away.

“I´ll go after him,” Andrew said and threw Simon an apologetic look before he turned around to follow his friend.

“He shouldn’t have said that,” Raphael muttered.

“It´s nothing,” Simon tried to assuage him. “I won´t let the words of a stranger affect me.”

“He has something against…” Raphael started and tried to find the right words.

“Whites?” Simon asked. “Or people that appear rich.”

“Both,” Raphael answered. “His dad was shot by a white police officer whose brother runs an investment bank. One generous ‘donation’ to the DA and the Police Department and the charges against him were miraculously dropped.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“I didn’t know about your grandparents,” Raphael continued, interrupting the silence.

“I have a very pale complexion,” Simon replied.

“Everyone thinks you´re a White,” Raphael told him “That´s why Brittany was so outraged that you chose to hang out with me instead of her.”

“Honestly,” Simon said and looked at Raphael. “I don’t care. I am who I am and neither my ethnicity nor the colour of my skin will ever define who I am or who I chose to be friends with.”

“A very mature outlook.” Both Simon and Raphael flipped around, startled by the fact that someone had come up to them without either of the two boys noticing it, but it was only Raphael´s mother standing there.

“One I hope others will adopt as well,” she finished. “The funeral will start soon. It´s time to take our seats.”

* * *

Later Simon found himself back at the Santiago`s house. Raphael´s mother had insisted _(‘Call me Guadalupe. And we´ve just been on a funeral, no one should be alone after such dreadful business. Besides, I´m sure you´re not feeding yourself right alone in that house of yours.’)_. Simon had tried to protest but against Guadalupe´s willpower as a mother he had no chance.

So now he was wedged between Raphael on his right and Martín on his left while the table nearly collapsed underneath the weight of all the dishes Guadalupe had cooked up.

“Mom´s a stress cooker,” Raphael stage-whispered to Simon.

“Be glad that I´m busy with the cookies or you´d get smacked for disrespecting your own mother like that,” Guadalupe exclaimed laughingly as she handled several pots at once. Simon´s offer of help had been politely declined a few minutes before. Raphael´s brothers, meanwhile, had turned back to normalcy and stared curiously at Simon, but where yet too shy to talk to him directly.

“My mother cleans when she´s stressed,” Simon shared with the table. “Only that she makes me and my sister help her.” Three sets of horrified expressions were what greeted him after that statement.

“That reminds me,” Guadalupe shouted over the sound of several dishes cooking on the stove, “your rooms better be clean until tomorrow. Anne is coming over.”

“Mom, Anne certainly won´t go upstairs and check our rooms!” Raphael exclaimed exasperated.

“It never hurts to have your room cleaned up,” was Guadalupe´s reply.

“It sure doesn’t,” Simon added cheekily.

“See, Simon agrees with me,” Raphael´s mother remarked. “Such a well-behaved boy.” Simon just grinned smugly at Raphael.  

“Traitor,” Raphael hissed at him.

“Hey,” Simon said and turned to Martín and David. “Wanna play a game?” The two boys stared at him wide-eyed but nodded.

“What game?” David asked.

“An awesome one,” Simon replied. “Do you have paper, pens and dies?”

* * *

Raphael didn’t know why, but seeing his siblings take a shine on Simon so easily made a warm feeling in his stomach blossom that he couldn’t quite describe.

He had no clue what exactly that game was to which Simon had introduced his brothers, only that it involved fantastical characters and quests they had to go on in order to save a magical world with more rules than he could cram in his head, but Martín and David had taken to it like a fish to water and now they were soundly trouncing the enemy´s army.

Raphael had feared that his mother would make them stop. Magic, witchcraft and the other fantastical nonsense Simon introduced his brothers to weren’t exactly conform to the Catholic dogma, but when he had asked her quietly in a moment where both his brothers and Simon had been distracted, she had winked at him and answered: “He´s making them smile, Raphael, and I find no fault in anything that makes any of my children happy.”. Raphael had this feeling that there was more to this statement than just his brothers learning a game, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

Raphael couldn’t say why, but somehow it had been important to him that his family liked Simon. It had never been like this before, not with his other friends where it he hadn’t cared what his little brothers had thought about them. But Simon was special. He knew the other boy for barely a few weeks and yet he couldn’t remember how his life had been without the other boy. It was as if some blurry film had been laid over his life before then and had now been ripped off. The way Simon laughed – how the corner of his mouth would curl up, how he threw back his head, how he didn’t care how loud he was – made Raphael feel like the whole world was suddenly in order.

It reminded him of how his friends had described their crushes on the girls they liked. But Raphael squashed that thought as fast as it had come. He couldn’t like Simon like that. It was wrong. Church and society preached so and Raphael knew that he couldn’t bear the disgusting looks on the face of his friends and mother if they knew how he was thinking about another boy. And he definitely wouldn’t be able to bear Simon´s fury and hate that must surely come if he knew how Raphael felt.

Raphael couldn’t live like that. Simon was his friend. A good one. One that seemed to understand him even without words and he wouldn’t taint that little piece of joy with his impure thoughts.

“Raphael, you gonna sit your ass down here and help us defeat the evil High Lord of the Dark Lands?” Simon shouted and smiled at the other boy. Raphael couldn’t help but smile back as he sat down.

He didn’t think about why. He didn’t want to.

Defeating the High Lord of the Dark Lands was much easier after all.

* * *

With a loud scream Brittany bolted up, breathing heavily as the contour of her room took shape in the darkness around her.

She had dreamed of monsters with black eyes, fangs and claws that were chasing her through her home, hungering for her blood. The picture of her dead parents – throat torn out, mouths opened in silent screams, blood pouring down on the carpet – was still imprinted on her retina and she saw it every time she closed her eyes.

Brittany fumbled for the switch of her bedside lamp and let out a relived breath when its light chased away the darkness around her bed, submerging the whole room in a warmish yellow glow.

She had tried to dismiss what Simon had told her about everything that happened as nothing but the product of a troubled and crazy mind, but every time she closed her eyes and was thrown back to the attack on her, she knew deep down that every word Simon had spoken to her rang true.

It was a sobering experience, suddenly recognizing that you were nothing but prey to mightier beings out there. Brittany had always lived under the illusion that her name and her family´s money would shield her from the nastier aspects of live forever. Having that illusion so violently ripped away from her, terrified her to a degree she had never felt before.

After a while Brittany had calmed down enough to scrap up the courage to switch off the lights again. Yet sleep wouldn’t find her for hours and when it did it was filled with screams, blood and death.

* * *

**1975**

* * *

“I´m too old for this shit!” Brittany screamed as she turned around mid-walking and shot one of the attacking vampires straight in the face with bullets filled with holy water. There was a disgusting sizzling sound as the vampire´s flesh literally began to melt while the man´s dying screams echoed through the cave. Brittany didn’t give the man she had just killed any thought, though, and just continued running as fast as her legs could carry her.

A black blur and suddenly a man was running next to her. Unlike her, though, he still looked as put together as he had when they had started this stupidity and he wasn’t out of breath either. Another vampire lunged at them from a side corridor, but the man beside Brittany just swiped effortlessly at the woman with one hand, making her stagger back while a fountain of blood erupted from her cut throat.

“You´re barely forty,” the man teased, “you´re still in your prime.”

“I was in my prime when I raided that Inka temple in Venezuela in 1969!” Brittany shot back. “I don’t even know why I let you persuade me to do this!” She added, but they both knew why she was here.

“You could never resist a secret lair,” the man replied smugly, “and this one is directly under New York and infested with rouge vampires who sacrifice their victims to some made-up god. That has everything to make you swoon.”

“Shut up, Raphael,” Brittany grumbled, but there was no real heat behind her words, only fondness that spoke of true camaraderie. “Now, cover me while I attach Magnus’ magical bombs here.” She shook her head. “He´s always eager to supply me with gadgets, but when it comes to the actual work, he´s always chickening out.” She put down her backpack and began rummaging through it while Raphael took a fighting stance and stared into the darkness that the tunnel turned into.

The next vampire that came at them was blood-smeared with spit dripping down his fangs and chins. He tried to take a swipe at Raphael, but the other vampire stepped aside, easily dodging the badly aimed attack, instead using the force of the vampire´s attack to throw him against the wall. There was a sickening crunch as the man´s neck broke and then his body turned limp.

“How long does it take?” Raphael hissed at Brittany who was still bent over Magnus’ bomb. It was nothing more than a smooth black orb on which the woman ran complicated patterns with her index finger.

“Finished,” she exclaimed. Exact in this moment a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the tunnel, a multitude of voices blended together as one.

“We should definitely vanish from here,” Brittany commented and not sooner as it was said the two of them were already running. Brittany lost count of how many turns they took, or how many vampires she shot – Raphael probably knew, because he counted their kills just to compare them, the macho -  or how many times they would have nearly died if her on-the-spot thinking and Raphael´s vampire powers hadn’t saved them, but finally they made it out of the secret cave system into one of New York´s subway tunnels. As fast as they could, they covered the entrance with the lid that still leaned on the wall from their entry an hour prior.

“When will it explode?” Raphael asked holding the cap down while furious scratching noises could be heard from underneath. The rouge vampires didn’t like that their prey had escaped them.

“Now!” Brittany screamed and they both threw themselves aside just in time as searing green light filled the whole tunnel. When it had abated after seconds (it had felt like eternity for Brittany) an eerie silence settled over them. Allowing herself to sag down on the ground, Brittany breathed heavily as the adrenaline that had previously surged through her body receded and made her whole body feel weak.

“Another problem taken care of,” she commented between wheezing breaths. She shot Raphael a shaky smile to which he responded with his usual aloof expression back in place.

“Next time Magnus comes with us,” Raphael grumbled, even both they both knew that anything was likelier than Magnus Bane actually trading his mansion for the dreary undergrounds of New York.

“Simon would have loved it,” Brittany remarked off-handed. “Cultic vampires that sacrifice male virgins to their god in hitherto undiscovered parts of the underground. He would have laughed himself silly.” The moment these words had left her mouth the atmosphere around them instantly turned sombre.

“I need to get back,” Raphael stated quietly and stood up.

“To Camille?” Brittany snorted derisively.

“You don’t understand,” Raphael said barely above a whisper.

“You´re right, I don’t,” Brittany exclaimed as she stood up and put her face right in front of Raphael´s. “I don’t understand why you even joined her clan in the first place. I don’t understand why you allow that _monster_ to abuse and manipulate you again and again _and again_. I don’t understand why you won´t just leave. I don´t understand why you deny yourself any chance at happiness. _I. Don´t. Understand._ ” With every word she punched Raphael but the vampire just took it stoically. Only at her last words began his emotionless mask to crack.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” he roared at her and Brittany took a few steps back. “I don’t deserve it after what I´ve done. I need to atone.”

“And you think staying with that wretched woman; that torturing yourself is atonement?” Brittany asked, her voice tinted with sadness and pity.

“I´ll never atone for what I´ve done,” Raphael replied. “I´ll never atone for killing Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my friends and I started watching Shadowhunters we all didn´t realize the actor playing Simon - Alberto Rosende - was of Hispanic ethnicity until one of us googled him mid-season because he looked like your average German John Doe - or as we call it here Max Mustermann. So I thought, why not have some of the characters in this fic suffer this misconception, too?


	9. Arc I: Apocalypsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this whole mess started Magnus had driven and walked around more than he had since the invention of the automobile. And now he had to summon the very demon he had fed that Clary girl´s memories to. Oh, the joy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic is officially my longest and second most-successful story ever. Thank you all for your continued support, every Kudos and comment matters. I can´t tell you how often a sudden urge of inspiration overtakes me after reading a long comment. E.g. this chapter was written in two days after two weeks of writing not a single word due to such a comment ^^ 
> 
> Now I present you the longest chapter of this fic up until now:

**Present**

* * *

They took one of Magnus’ cars – of course they did, as the two Lightwoods didn’t know how to drive one and even if they did Magnus would have rather died than be seen in those ugly white vans the Institute had in its garage en masse.

Instead they were sitting in his black Audi TT, a brand new addition to his extensive car park and were slowly making their way towards where his locations spell indicated Clary and Jace to be.

“What do you think they discovered in the City of Bones?” Isabelle asked from the middle seat behind them, lazily playing with one strand of her glossy black hair. Magnus had to hand it to the Lightwoods, they knew how to produce deadly beautiful offspring, more than aptly shown by the brooding young man sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

“I have an inkling,” Magnus replied as he drove the car past a curve with way too much speed, making Alec grip the door handle even tighter than he already did.

“Do tell,” Isabelle urged. Magnus sighed. He had a pretty damn good notion of what the Silent Brothers had lured out of young Clary´s mind. He had taken not all of her memories, not erased all traces of the Shadow World in her mind. He could have not, lest he would have damaged her mind for good. But should he truly share such a secret with the two young Shadowhunters in his car he barely knew? Was it his right? Or was it even theirs as Clary´s secret was so intimately interwoven with what had happened and what was yet to come? Morality, Magnus had found out, was a slippery slope to walk on.

“It isn´t really my secret to share,” he evaded, his gaze locked on the street before him.

“All this,” Alec began, making an encompassing hand gesture that conveyed exactly what he meant, “started with _that_ girl. So, obviously whatever she knows – or doesn’t know – affects us as much as it does her. I´d say that´s a rather strong point for telling us what you know.” He sent Magnus a pointed stare. The Warlock just sighed.

“You´re right,” he finally conceded, “there´s a reason why all this is happening around Clary. It´s also the reason why her mother had me modify her memories.” He stopped at a red light, watching the traffic pass by in front of him. “It has to do with her father.”

“Why all that commotion about that?” Isabelle wanted to know. “It isn’t as if her father was, I don’t know, Valentine or the like.” She leaned back. Magnus didn’t say anything. The light changed back to green and he continued driving.

“What the fuck!” Isabelle shouted as she finally connected Magnus uneasy silence with what she so jokingly had said. “You can´t be serious!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alec interrupted. “Are you claiming that the girl is Valentine´s daughter?” He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Her mother´s name is Jocelyn Fairchild,” Magnus started to explain, “and if you look her up in the Clave´s records you´ll find out that she was married to Valentine Morgenstern. She fled him, came to me and begged me to modify her daughter´s memories so that she would never find out about the Shadow World and the terrible legacy it brought with it.”

“That changes so much,” Isabelle whispered. “Whatever is coming, the girl will be right in the middle of it.” Magnus just nodded.

“All more the reason to ditch her,” Alec said tensely.

“Alec!” Isabelle exclaimed shocked. “She cannot help who her father is.”

“She is a danger, that´s what she is,” Alec countered, turning his head to look directly at his sister. “Valentine won´t stop coming for her. She´s putting us all in jeopardy.”

“And what´s your solution then?” Isabelle challenged her older brother. “Abandoning her? I know you, Alec, and I know that you couldn’t live with yourself if an innocent girl dies because of you.” Alec didn’t reply to her assessment, instead staring on the road before them.

“We´re there,” Magnus said and slowed down the car until it stood still right in front of the beginning of the pier. Right in time, for suddenly a pain so unbearable shot through his whole body. Panicked, he fumbled on the door handle until it opened. As he tumbled out of the car Magnus wasn’t even able to stand on his own two feet, instead falling on the ground, wheezing.

_“A pity,” a figure in front of her sneered, “cooperating would have spared you so much pain.” She barred her teeth at the man – Valentine. “This is your last chance to tell me what you know.”_

_“I´d rather die,” she spat at him. Her body may be giving out, but her spirit was still strong. Her only regret was that she would never have the chance to say proper goodbyes, but that was something she could live with._

_“As you wish,” Valentine replied and before she even had the chance to react he had pricked her with a syringe, emptying its whole content into her bloodstream. She fell to the ground, pain as if liquid fire cursed through her veins wracking her whole body. She wanted to scream, but no sound would make it past her lips._

_“That´s the fate your whole degenerate race will experience, Dot,” Valentine jeered at her. Then there was nothing but darkness._

Magnus came back to himself with a scream that made Alec and Isabelle jump back in fright.

“What happened?” Isabelle wanted to know. Alec, meanwhile, slung one of Magnus’ arms over his shoulder and heaved the Warlock from the ground. Magnus, not possessing the strength to stand on his own leaned heavily on the Shadowhunter as he replied: “She´s dead.”

“Who?” Alec asked with worry in his voice.

“Dot,” Magnus replied. “The Warlock that I had watching Clary and her mother. Valentine killed her, I saw it happen through her eyes.” Alec stopped walking.

“I´m sorry,” he said and as Magnus looked into the other´s eyes he saw nothing but sincerity there.

“You are?” It would be one of the few times a Shadowhunter was actually sorry for one of Magnus’ own dying. They usually saw Warlocks as barely a step above demons, using and discarding them whenever it pleased them.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Alec asked confused. “She was a, well not quite human, being just like me or my sister. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“That´s nice of you to say,” Magnus replied, looking at the Shadowhunter in a new light.

“Alec!” They all turned their heads to see Jace walking towards them, Clary following behind them. “What are you all doing here?”

“What were you thinking, vanishing like that?” Alec snapped at the blonde.

“Clary needed my help,” Jace replied as if that explained everything. Alec, dumbfounded by that answer, just gaped at Jace like his Parabatai had lost his mind.

“You could have told us,” Isabelle pointed out, probably trying to delay her brother erupting in righteous anger.

“Someone took my memories,” Clary interjected, “Jace offered me his help in regaining them.”

“Did it work?” Isabelle asked.

“No,” Clary replied downtrodden.

“Of course not,” Magnus chipped in. “Even the Silent Brothers can´t restore something that isn’t even there.”

“So,” Clary said, her gaze full of suspicion and anger, “not only were you the secret Simon kept from me until now, you´re also the one who stole my memory.”

“At your mother´s request,” Magnus pointed out. “She knew the risks.”

“Why would my mother do that to me?” Clary wanted to know, her voice suddenly sounding less sure. She probably felt so conflicted, suddenly getting to know a side of her mother – the person she loved the most in her life – she hadn’t even thought could exist.

“I think you already know that,” Magnus replied. “She did it to protect you; from the Downworld, the Clave and from Valentine himself.” He sighed. “I wish I could retrieve your memories, but I no longer have them.”

“What?!” Clary exclaimed aghast. “Where are they?”

“I fed them to a memory demon for safekeeping,” Magnus answered.

“And why the hell would you do that?” Jace demanded to know, his whole posture straightened and rigid, probably trying to appear imposing, but Magnus had seen much more intimidating sights, so he didn’t let himself be deterred by the testosterone-driven blonde.

“If Valentine ever captured me, he could torture Clary´s memories out of me,” Magnus explained. Centuries of living had taught him that humility above all was the most important thing in order to survive. Magnus knew that he could take one most of the supernatural community, but he was also well aware that its heavy hitters – and Valentine definitely was one of them – had all a decent shot at besting him should they set their mind to the task. And he had heard more than a few tales of Valentine´s sordid talents when it came to extracting secrets from his enemies. “Just like he tortured Dot.”

“Tortured?” Isabelle spoke up.

“Wait,” Clary interrupted, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Is Dot okay?” Magnus looked at her with sorrow and pity.

“You don’t know?” he asked. “Dot is dead.”

“What?” Clary gasped, clinging to Jace as she processed the news. “H…How do you know?”

“I have a connection with every warlock under my protection,” Magnus explained. “I cannot feel hers any longer.” He locked his gaze with Clary´s. “Valentine killed her because she would not betray your mother.” It was not an accusation, rather a factual statement, and yet Magnus couldn’t help but feel bad when he saw Clary´s eyes tearing up.

“Oh, my God,” she cried.

“Come with me, Clary,” Magnus urged her. “Until we have Simon back and a plan as to how to proceed from here on my lair can offer you protection no Shadowhunter ever could.”

“No,” Clary scoffed. “No, I´m not going anywhere with you.”

“Don´t be a fool,” Magnus snapped at her, “I can´t keep you safe while you gallivant with them _and_ get Simon back simultaneously.”

“How well is that working out for you, hm?” Clary sneered. “Simon´s still missing!” Instead of taking her bait, Magnus took a deep breath.

“Your mother would want you to live,” he tried to reason with the agitated girl.

“Then help me get my memories back from whatever demon you gave them to,” she demanded.

“Valentine is hunting you, too,” Jace pointed out. “If he´s going after Warlock you´re the obvious choice.”

“And every moment we´re outside my lair´s protection, is a moment Valentine gets closer to finding us!” Clary wanted to say something, but Jace laid one hand atop her shoulder so she swallowed whatever she wanted to say.

“Look, Clary,” he said, “he´s the only one who can get your memories back. Maybe we should heed him?”

“Fine,” Clary huffed. “But I still gotta get some of my stuff from my home.”

“That´s fine with me,” Magnus shrugged. He snipped with his fingers and a calling card appeared between his ring and index finger in a cloud of lilac smoke. “Meet me here.” He held the card towards Alec who reluctantly took it.

“See ya,” Magnus mock-saluted and then stalked away.

* * *

Walking over the threshold of their apartment Clary had to supress the urge to just break down and cry. This had been her mother´s and her safe house, their place of happiness and seeing it desecrated like this made her want to throw up. The countless paintings created by either her or her mother had been slashed, their frames broken, the countless knickknacks they had gathered over the years carelessly scattered all over the floor. Clary felt violated, a slick, disgusting film on her skin that she just couldn’t get off.

“Take only what you need,” Alec instructed her, “we don’t have much time.” He threw her a duffle bag which she was barely able to catch. Clary didn’t know why, but the black-haired Shadowhunter didn’t seem to like her very much. The other Clary – the one she had been before all this, before her mother´s abduction, before Simon´s secrets – would have been bothered by it, but right now she didn’t really care. All that mattered was finding her mother. Everything else was only secondary.

Mindlessly Clary went through the destroyed flat, stuffing whatever she needed in the bag. She was glad that she had never been much of a neat freak because then all of her clothes would have burnt with her room, but now there were enough pieces lying around that she didn’t need to worry about having something to wear.  

“I have everything,” she said when she was finished collecting everything she needed. Jace nodded and then he and Alec made their way towards the door. Clary followed. When she stood in the doorway, she turned around one last time. She took in the apartment, the unnatural silence of it, the flakes of ashes that covered some of its surfaces, the dark stain where Jace had slain the demon that had tried to kill her and felt like she was a stranger watching a place she had never been before. The apartment symbolized her old life – her old self – so it was probably quite fitting that it had been destroyed in almost the same way.

When Clary turned around she knew that she would never view the place as home ever again. Then she walked down the stairs, every step she took more difficult than the previous one. On the first floor the familiar green door, now hanging loosely on its angles, caught her gaze.

“You can wait outside,” she told Alec and Jace. “There´s something I need to do.” Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Jace just touched his arm and he closed it again.

“Don´t take too long,” Alec just said and then he turned around and left with Jace.

Walking into Dot´s apartment was a surreal experience. It was silent for once, which it had never been before. There had been always a teapot hissing, dreamcatchers jingling softly, Dot chatting animatedly. Now the teapot laid broken on the floor, shattered in thousand pieces, the dreamcatchers were torn apart and Dot…Dot was dead.

Tears ran down Clary´s cheeks as she slowly sank down on the ground, curling into a ball and just letting her grief flow freely. She couldn’t let the others see her like this – weak, frail, broken – but right now she could allow herself to be weak, to mourn for her friend who had died for her and her mother. Who had gifted Clary her first bike, who had shown her how to brew tea and how to just sit down and listen. Even when others had ridiculed and joked about Dot, Clary had never once doubted her friend. To her Dot had always been magic and mystery and it hurt so much to know that the other woman would never read her Tarot cards for Clary.

Still shaking and crying Clary stood up. She just needed one thing to remember Dot by. Her gaze fell upon the box in which Dot kept her Tarot cards. They had been a gift from her mother to Dot and Clary remembered well the many hours that had been spent on the detailed illustrations. Without thinking Clary took the box and stuffed it away in her duffle bag.

Maybe she would never see Dot again _(‘Or your mother,’ a traitorous voice whispered in her mind but Clary squashed it ruthlessly)_ but at least she would have something to remember her friend by.

“Goodbye Dot,” she whispered into the silent room. “I´ll avenge you.”

The silence continued.

* * *

“Magnus lives in a warehouse?” Clary asked with raised eyebrows. “I expected something, you know, flashier?”

“Not exactly. It´s a warlock glamour,” Isabelle clarified.

“Something´s wrong,” Alec suddenly said as they took another turn. “It´s far too easy to get this close.” All of them pulled out their Seraph blades, even Clary which earned her another glare from Alec. Now that the Shadowhunter had pointed it out she noticed how unwelcome the very aura of the place was, making every hair on her skin stand up.

“His protective wards must be down,” Jace deduced.

“You…” Alec turned towards Clary, “Don´t get in the way.” The sound of a man grunting made them all turn around and what they saw made Clary´s heart grow cold. There was another man, wearing a black suit and a cold smile who slowly strode toward his defenceless victim. He raised his blade and without a warning he drove it down, cutting the other man right open. One last gasp and then the man fell down the crates until he laid lifeless on the ground, his blood slowly turning the ground around him red.

“Oh God!” Clary exclaimed. “Valentine found Magnus.” That seemed to break the spell, all of them suddenly rushing forward. Isabelle and Jace turned left, while Alec vanished somewhere in the hallways and Clary made her way straight towards where the man – the Warlock from the gills at the side of his neck – was laying on the ground.

“Daddy!” a girl screamed. She ran towards the corpse on the ground. “Daddy!” Clary watched in terror as the Circle member stalked towards the girl kneeling next to her father, raising his blade in order to cleave her head right from her shoulders.

“Watch out!” she shouted as she threw herself at the Shadowhunter. The man stumbled forward but was able to catch himself soon after. He turned around and eyed her with something akin to greed in his cruel eyes. The girl, meanwhile, recognising the danger she was in, ran towards Clary and hid behind her.

“Clary Fairchild.” Hearing her name spoken like that vile man made shivers of disgust running down her spine. “Valentine will be so pleased to meet you.” He stalked towards her, assured of his own victory as Clary pushed the Warlock girl behind her and stepped backward until their back touched the crates which hindered them from fleeing any further.

In a feebly attempt to protect them, Clary raised her Seraph blade but before it could meet the Circle member´s there was a hissing sound and suddenly Isabelle´s whip slung itself around the Shadowhunter´s arm. The Lightwood scion pulled her whip back, making the man relinquish his hold on his Seraph blade. Before the Circle member could recover, though, Jace was suddenly upon him, having made his way to the level above them. He threw a dagger which sank into the Shadowhunter´s back. With a loud thud, the man´s body fell on the ground right next to the Warlock he had murdered.

“Thanks for that,” Clary exhaled.

“Any time,” Jace replied cheekily. Clary turned towards the terrified Warlock girl.

“Stick close,” she told her. “It´s the safest if we stay together.” Seeing that the girl was close to break down in hysterics, Clary took her by the shoulders and locked her gaze with the girl´s. “It´s okay. I won´t leave you alone, I promise.” She offered her hand to the girl which it took after a short moment of hesitation.

Then they were on their way.

* * *

Magnus meanwhile was defending himself against another Circle member. Using his magic, he tore the shelves off the wall and tried to bury the rouge Shadowhungter underneath it. The man saw it coming, though, and evaded being struck down by the shelves with ease.

“Your magic´s strong, Warlock,” the man taunted, “much stronger than that horned weakling I killed this morning.”

“Elias?” Magnus gasped and then a primordial rage overtook him. Faster than he thought possible he conjured up lightning and sent one flash after another at the Circle member. The man parried each of Magnus attacks with his Seraph blades, but each time he did he had to take one step backwards, so strong were the attacks Magnus sent at him.

“That was his name,” the Shadowhunter grinned. “Well, lucky for us, he sold you out before I too his Warlock mark.” Magnus roared in fury and sent out a pure blast of energy at the Circle member. The man, though, ducked away underneath it, and before Magnus knew it he was crowding in his space, a maniac grin on his face.

“Cat´s eyes,” he jeered. “Be a nice addition to my collection.” He raised his blade and Magnus was already summoning what was left of his magic to block him _(even though it would be too late; he would die here and neither Simon nor Raphael would ever know)_ when he could feel something flying past his head, nearly grazing his cheeks and embedding itself in the Cirlce member´s chest. For a split-second confusion and surprise was mirrored on each of their faces, then the Shadowhunter let out one last wheeze and fell to the ground, dead.

With disgust etched on his face, Magnus stepped around the corpse of the rouge Shadowhunter and walked towards Alec who was standing a few meters away, bow still raised.

“Well done,” Magnus complimented the young man, which earned him another blush on that beautiful face.

“It´s nothing,” Alec mumbled, then more awkwardly he added: “Who´s Elias?” Magnus face fell.

“A dear friend of mine who I gave the task of getting our people to safety while I tried to gather more information,” Magnus replied. “It seems that it costed him his life.” Alec looked like he wanted to do something – laying an arm on his shoulder, say something therapeutic – but instead he just stammered: “Oh, uh…we should really…you know, probably get…”

“Right, we should join the party,” Magnus finished. They left the room and the corpse of the Circle member behind and made their way through the maze of corridors that functioned as secondary layer of defence for his lair. Magnus led them single-mindedly, knowing that there were still Warlocks and Circle members in the complex. He couldn’t let his people be slaughtered like sheep.

“Alec!” They both turned around and saw the others running towards them and with them was…

“Zoe!” Magnus exclaimed relieved. He sank down on the ground right in time for the girl to throw herself at him, hugging him as if her life depended on it. “You´re alright.”

“They killed Dad,” the girl cried in his shoulder.

“Sssshhh,” Magnus mumbled. “You´re safe now. No one´s gonna hurt you.” Zoe looked at him with tearstained cheeks and seeing the gratefulness and hope in her eyes made Magnus want to throw up. How could he promise such thing when the Circle had risen again and was actively hunting Warlocks?

“Can you show me what happened?” he asked. Zoe just nodded solemnly. She tapped with her index finger against her temple, a look of concentration on her face. Slowly a tendril of silver smoke coiled around her finger, a thread spun of the finest silver, which she then handed over to Magnus. The older Warlock took a deep breath and allowed Zoe´s memory to settle in his mind.

“You have to join the others, my dear,” Magnus told Zoe when he was finished. “This is no place for a little girl.” Summoning his magic, he sent a probe towards one of his other safe houses and let out a sigh of relief when it was answered by Anastasia, the Warlock he had instructed to safeguard this particular lair. They weren’t compromised. He requested of Anastasia to open a portal and seconds after that it did, right in the middle of the room they were all standing in.

“Go,” he ushered Zoe. The Warlock girl looked one last time back him, then to Clary before she walked through the portal. Standing up, Magnus turned towards Clary.

“I saw what you did for Zoe,” he began, “you risked your life without hesitation to save a young Warlock child.”

“She was just a girl and she was in trouble,” Clary replied, apparently uncomfortable with the praise. “I had no choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Magnus disagreed with her. “You´re not like the others, Clay Fairchild. Most Shadowhunters protect Downworlders out of sense of duty – if they do it all – but you saved young Zoe because of what was inside your heart.” He paused for a moment. “And that is what people look up to.”

“Magnus, please,” Clary pleaded, “I need my memories back.” Magnus sighed.

“I can summon the demon, but you must make the demand,” he finally conceded. “I have to warn you, though, that retrieving your memories will not be easy.”

“I will do what I have to do,” Clary replied and Magnus could see some of the strength shine through that the girl would need in the future that was yet to come.

“All right,” Magnus said, “but we´re not safe here. This lair´s location has been compromised.” He spread his arms. “Hold tight, everyone, we´re about to move.” He knew that the Shadowhunters, especially Alec, weren’t fond of this mode of transportation, but right now he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to be at a safe place, away from any possible danger, so they just had to deal with him transporting them like this.

In a flash of light they all vanished, only the corpses of the Circle members bearing witness to what had occurred in the abandoned ware house.

* * *

They appeared in one of the many lofts Magnus possessed all over the City. This one was decorated in green and earth tones, very calming and relaxing, exactly what he needed right now. Taking his company into consideration, though, made Magnus doubt that this state of mind would be of long constancy.

“Ah, much better,” he sighed deeply.

“Okay, so how do we summon the memory demon?” Ah, and there it was, the end of his calm and relaxation.

“Are you certain?” he asked again. Dealing with demons was dangerous business and he had seen more than one overconfident person getting literally eaten alive because they had gone into the whole thing unprepared. “Summoning such a powerful demon could be lethal.”

“I´ll do anything to save my mother,” Clary replied.

“Okay. Pretty boy, get your team ready,” Magnus said.

“You know what to do,” Jace started, but Magnus interrupted him.

“I´m not talking to you,” he admonished the blonde, enjoying the look of confusion on the Shadowhunter´s face. “I´m talking to you.” He pointed towards Alec, who began to stutter and blush at him suddenly being the centre of attention.

“Come with me,” Magnus ordered Clary and for once the girl did as she was told. Baby steps.

“Everyone wants the Mortal Cup,” Magnus started as they walked towards the room where he usually summoned the demons he dealt with. “Don´t trust anyone, especially not the Clave.”

“Then why should I trust you?” Clary asked, her voice tinted with suspicion. Magnus, resting his hands on the door handles, turned his face towards her and smiled.

“You shouldn’t.” Then he pushed the door open and led Clary into the room. “Only trust yourself.” He rummaged through his supplies of goods one needed to summon a demon until he found the chalks Clary would need in order to draw the pentagram to summon the memory demon.

“These chalks are beautiful,” Clary praised with awe as she opened the lid of the box he had handed her. “What are they for?”

“If a person wants their memories returned, they must draw the pentagram to summon the demon,” Magnus explained. With a flourish of his hand a piece of paper appeared in his palm which he handed over to Clary. “You have to draw this on the ground. Take your time, because even the smallest mistake can spell your death.” Clary swallowed hard. “I can walk you through, if you like.”

“No,” Clary shook her head energetically. “I got this.”

“As you wish,” Magnus complied.

* * *

An hour later found Magnus and the Shadowhunters back in his summoning room where a beautifully crafted pentagram now took half of the floor.

“Simon was right,” Magnus commented, “your artistry is, indeed, beyond compare.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clary replied.

“Oh, the only other person I´ve known who could draw as well was Michelangelo,” Magnus told them, “who was excellent in bed, I might add.” He winked at Alec, eliciting a strangled sound from the Shadowhunter.

“Shadowhunter,” Magnus turned towards Jace,” prepare Clary as best as you can.” Jace nodded and then stepped forward.

“Memory demons usually are Greater Demons,” he explained, “meaning that they possess intelligence and cunning beyond what Lesser Demons have and powers that come along with it. Their very presence can overwhelm you, which is why we have a rune to negate that effect.” He paused, his gaze locking with Clary´s. “That rune will be far more powerful than anything you´ve every faces so far.” There was only a short flash of uncertainty before the expression of determination settled back on Clary´s face.

“Do it,” she told Jace. The blonde pulled out his Stele and began to sear the rune into Clary´s flesh. The whole room filled with the smell of burning flesh and the girl´s screams, making Magnus turn away in disgust. That Shadowhunters would do that to themselves he just couldn’t comprehend. After a short while the smell and the screams finally abated.

“We´re ready,” Jace said.

“Okay,” Magnus said, taking a deep breath. “Everyone take your rightful place on the pentagram.” The Shadowhunters shuffled around until everyone was in their place.

“We must initiate a bond,” Magnus continued. “Once this bond is sealed, it must not be broken until the demon retreats.” He looked in each of their faces, his own expression conveying the seriousness of the matter. “No matter what happens, we must not let go of each other´s hands.” He stretched out his hands, his right one offered to Alec, his left one to Clary who took it with trepidation.

“I will lead the ceremony,” Magnus explained, “and you all must do exactly as I say. The demon´s name is Valak and at some point he will ask for payment in exchange for Clary´s memories.”

“What do you mean?” Clary asked wide-eyed. “What kind of payment?”

“We will see,” Magnus replied. “So, let us begin.” He began chanting, feeling the energy level around them rising with each word that left his lips. The lines of the pentagram began to glow, a storm beginning to form within its confinement. Magnus could feel the demon approaching, an oppressing, disgusting cloud of dark energy that became bigger and bigger. Dark smoke rose from the ground, growing denser and denser with each seconds. Forms began to form within the smoke, unrecognisable until they took the shape of a human male.

“You have summoned me,” a voice boomed. The last wisps of smoke vanished, the pentagram now inhabited by a man who appeared barely older than Magnus himself. He looked like he was of European descend, white skin, black hair and deep blue eyes and high cheekbones that made him look aristocratic and sophisticated. He wore a silver-grey coat and underneath it a black three-piece suit.

“We have,” Magnus replied, his voice steady and even, not betraying any emotions.

“Magnus,” Valak smiled predatorily. “Such a pleasure to see you. Do you have another one of these exquisite memories you always use to pay for my favours?”

“No,” Magnus retorted, grabbing the hands of Alec and Clary tighter out of fear that they would let go otherwise. “We actually summoned you to demand them back.” Valak looked at him as if he wanted to make certain that Magnus wasn’t joking, then he threw back his head and let out a roaring laughter.

“What´s so funny?” Clary fumed from beside him. Magnus winced.

“Ah, Clary Fairchild,” Valak purred. “It is as if I have known you your whole life. I probably know you better than you know yourself.” He grinned. “After all, it is I who holds your real memories while your head is filled with nothing but pale forgeries.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. “How do you even know who you really are when your whole self is moulded from memories that are not real? Maybe, if Magnus had not stolen what is rightly yours you could have saved your mother.”

“I want my memories back,” Clary spoke with conviction and strength, only the shaking of her hand in Magnus’ betraying her fraying nerves.

“Alright, alright,” Valak drawled. “You can have them back, but I want something in return.”

“What?” Clary wanted to know.

“Each of you must relinquish a beloved memory of the one you love the most,” Valak demanded. “Are you willing to pay my price, Clary Fairchild?” Clary met the demon´s gaze head on and nodded.

“Well, well,” the demon purred. “With which of you shall I start?” He stalked on the edge of the pentagram until he stood right in front of Isabelle. “Yours is the first memory I want.”

A ghostly white mist detached itself from Isabelle and flew towards the demon´s outstretched hand where it solidified into a cloud. The memory Isabelle held dearest appeared within the mist, a scene of Alec who smiled unguarded at his younger sister.

Then the Valak turned towards Clary, repeating the same procedure, only this time with a memory of her and her mother while they were drawing something.

And then it was Alec´s turn. The boy was unusually pale, his palms sweaty and he looked like he was ready to bolt. Magnus gripped his hand tighter, hoping to prevent that from happening.

It was Jace that appeared in Alec´s memory. Magnus recognised the room he was in as one of the training rooms in the Institute, weapons being displayed all over the walls. The blonde Shadowhunter was wearing nothing but slacks, his skin glistening with sweat, a few strands of hair hanging in his face. He looked at Alec and grinned, his expression completely free of sorrow.

“No, it´s not true!” Alec exclaimed. “The demon deceived me!”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Valak jeered. “I have no need to deceive you when the truth is already so painful.” He let the memory play forward, the ghost Jace smiling at them with mirth shining in his eyes. “Now they all know, and, oh, how they will despise you. Imagine the disgust _he_ must feel now when he looks at you. All those years of friendship and you were nothing but _lusting_ after him.”

“Don´t break the circle!” Magnus shouted, but it was too late. Alec let go of their hands and scrambled backwards, desperately trying to get away from the demon and the memory he displayed to torment the Shadowhunter.

Magnus looked at Alec with horror.

“You broke the circle,” Valak whispered. “Oh, you pathetic little boy, so full of self-loathing and denial. It´s quite the exquisite flavour. I would love to take your soul.” Then, without any of them having a chance to react, Valak lunged towards Jace and pulled him into the circle with him. “But I think I shall enjoy taking the soul of the one you love the most to Hell more.” His mouth was nearly touching Jace´s neck. “We shall have so much fun together.”

“Leave him be!” Clary exclaimed, hand gripped tightly around her Seraph blade. Valak just laughed.

“What are you going to do, my little Shadowhunter?” he taunted, “I hold the memories you so covet. Killing me will make them unattainable to you.” He grinned at her smugly.

“You miscalculate,” Clary replied, “you think that I value my memories more than my friend.” Then she dashed forward, plunging her blade right into the demon´s side, until it reached his heart. There was a short flash of confusion on Valak´s face before he let out a blood curling scream as he disintegrated into thousand flakes of gold like demons usually did.

Jace fell to the ground, wheezing, Clary and Isabelle immediately scrambling forward to reach the blonde. They were so occupied with making sure that their friend was okay that none of them was aware of Alec leaving the room, shame weighting down his shoulders heavily.

Only Magnus noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PSA:** There (probably) won´t be any update before December 15th as I registered myself for a Big Bang in another fandom for which I have yet to start writing. 
> 
> And no, I didn´t forget Clary telling the others who her father really is, it´s just that with all that was happening in between, it got pushed at the back of her mind. Next chapter will have some talks about that particular topic as well as some Simon and Raphael *winks*


	10. Arc I: Mulierositas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dates, kisses (well, _a_ kiss), angst and a duck called Humphrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? An update before Dec 15th? Apparently it is! And even better, it´s comfort and fluff for all four of our favourite boys *le sigh*

**Present**

* * *

"Why don´t I remember any of that?" Raphael asked, his voice hoarse, as he stared at the picture he was clutching so hard that the glass was beginning to creak forebodingly.

"I don´t know," Brittany said, sitting in her chair. "Until a few days ago I was living in a lonely and empty house on the East Side but one day I suddenly found myself coming here because I just knew that this was my home." Raphael could barely believe it. Her current accommodations, while nothing to scoff at, were certainly not comparable to a nice little town house. "The memories came soon after that. Most prominent, the day I first was attacked by a vampire and Simon was there to save me." Brittany´s lips curled into a wistful smile. "It´s mostly disconnected snippets since then. I think the big picture will reveal itself once Simon returns to this time."

"What do you remember?" Raphael asked interested.

"A life full of adventure and danger," Brittany replied. "A fulfilled live. One I´d never turn in for what I had before. I met so many different people, visited so many places. Things the old me would have never done." She stood up again, her face suddenly turning into a grimace.

"Ugh, these bones are no longer what they once were," she complained. "To think that monsters once fled at the mention of my name. But time´s not an enemy I can prevail against. Unlike you." She shot Raphael a pointed look.

"It´s not something to be envious of," Raphael muttered. He put the picture back on the mantle, afraid that if he looked at it for too long it would vanish in front of his very eyes, because he wasn’t yet supposed to know.

"It seems like each of us covets what the other has," Brittany said. "So, are you aware of Valentine´s return?"

"How do you know about that?" Raphael demanded to know. As far as he was aware not many beings on the planet were in the know about the biggest threat to the Shadow World rising again.

"I have my contacts," Brittany answered. "Some of which you, too, will have when the time is right. I may no longer be able to join the fray against him as I did before, but I still have a vast network I can use to track him."

"Why would you?" Raphael asked curious. The Brittany who stood in front of him was so unlike the one that was still present in his mind that he couldn’t quite reconcile the two versions with each other.

"Because many decades ago, I learned that it doesn’t matter what you are, but who," Brittany replied. "Not all monsters do monstrous things and even humans can lack humanity." She sighed. "So, will you accept my help?" Raphael didn’t need to think about her offer very long. To be exact, not even for a few seconds.

"Yes."

* * *

Magnus found Alec in one of his many rooms that held no function but to store the many valuables he had accumulated over the many centuries of his life. This particular room held the memorabilia of his time in Rome, most noteworthy the countless books he saved from the Vatican library because they were 'heretical'. Quite the irony, Magnus supposed, to find Alec in this room.

Alec was sitting behind the crate which contained a statue made by his old friend and lover Michelangelo of a very twinkish young man which would have costed him his head if the Vatican would have ever seen it. The artist had spared no detail. Alec was leaning with his back against the crate, his head thrown back and eyes closed. There were no signs of tears – Alec was too in control of himself for that – but the shaking of his hands and his erratic breathing pattern told Magnus that the young Shadowhunter was everything but calm and composed.

"Go away, Izzy!" Alec shouted, his eyes still closed.

"While both your sister and I have many things in common – inhumanly beautiful and intelligent for once - there´s also many differences between us, mainly anatomical ones," Magnus joked. Alec just looked at him and in his blue eyes Magnus could see anguish so great and earnest that it took him aback for a moment. No being that young should feel so conflicted, so disconnected from everyone else like the man before him.

"Go away," Alec commanded him, but there was no heat – no emotion – behind the words; they were just said because Alec´s persona, the mask behind which he hid himself, demanded of himself that he be strong, independent and showed no weakness in front of anyone. It must be lonely, Magnus thought, to live a life without anyone really knowing you.

"No, I won´t," Magnus spoke softly. He sat down beside Alec and there were no words of protest coming from the other man. Magnus didn’t speak, didn’t say a word, because he knew that right now nothing would get through to Alec. Like a spooked animal, Alec needed to be the one to start their talk and Magnus could do nothing more but to be ready for it. Control – or rather the illusion of it – was needed and there would be no trust if Magnus took that away from Alec. So, he just sat there, his breathing evenly, staring at the shelves in front of him, feeling the warmth of Alec´s body right next to him seeping through his clothes.

"It was supposed to go away," Alec finally spoke. "I told myself that if I ignored it long enough then it would fade away." Magnus needed no clarification as to what Alec was speaking about.

"Emotions rarely obey commands of the mind," he added instead.

"No one was ever supposed to know," Alec continued. "How will they even stand being near me? How can Jace even be in my presence anymore knowing that I lust after him?" Magnus turned his head to the side and looked at Alec who was looking on the ground, evading his gaze.

"Jace is your Parabatai, isn´t he?" Magnus asked.

"Yes, he is," Alec replied. "Which makes it even worse."

"I don’t see how," Magnus disagreed with him. "Becoming Parabatai is one of the most sacred bonds in the Shadow World. Jace must value you greatly, more than any other person on this planet, and I don’t think that anything you feel can change that. He may never reciprocate your feelings the way you hope, but he won´t cast you down for who you are."

"How can you know?" Alec asked and his voice Magnus could hear the desire to just believe his words that wrestled with Alec´s deeply ingrained believe that what he felt – _who he was_ – was somehow wrong.

"Because I know people," Magnus answered, "Who wouldn’t, after living for centuries and walking amongst them? I know Downworlders, Shadowhunters and Mundanes and I know that real friendship transcends social restrictions and upbringing." He paused for a moment. "You grew up with him, you trained with him, you fought with him – there are few powers that can forge stronger ties between two beings than those." Alec seemed to processed what Magnus had said, because for a while he said nothing while he his gaze flickered between Magnus and any other point in the room.

"But the Clave...." Alec started his one last try at protest.

"...has only as much power over you as you allow them to have," Magnus interrupted him. "Believe me, I knew many Shadowhunters that didn’t comply with the Clave´s conservative teachings on family and traditions and in the end, most of them lived their life happily, even though, as you´re probably quite aware, most Shadowhunters don’t die peacefully in their sleep." Alec nodded.

"The only way you can ever be sure, though," Magnus continued, "is to just talk with your Parabatai. I know, I know - " Magnus forestalled any protest from Alec by placing one hand on the other man´s shoulder. "- that may seem daunting to you..."

"I´d rather fight my way through all seven circles of Hell," Alec muttered under his breath.

"...but if you don’t, you´ll live the rest of your life in uncertainty," Magnus finished. "And believe me, that´s so much worse. The questions of _'What if...?'_ and _'What could have been?'_ can torture you more than you might imagine."

"I´m not ready," Alec confessed.

"Sometimes that´s the only time when we can truly be brave," Magnus replied. He let go of Alec and stood up. "Just promise me that you´ll think about it." For a moment, it looked like Alec wouldn’t, but then his shoulders sagged down. "I will."

Magnus didn’t say anything further and instead left the room. Alec needed some time alone and would join the others when he felt ready. He closed the door behind him softly and made his way through the hallway of his lair, yet, after walking around another corner Magnus nearly ran into an obliviously distraught Jace.

“Where is he?” he shouted. “Where´s Alec?”

“Why?” Magnus demanded to know.

“Because I need to see him!” Jace snapped at the Warlock. “And you can´t stop me!”

“I very well can,” Magnus growled back. “So how about you stop with your alpha male macho act and calm down a little bit, mmh?” Fury blazed through Jace´s eyes and for a moment it looked like the Shadowhunter was really about to test Magnus, but as fast as the emotion had crossed Jace´s face it vanished again.

“Alec is my Parabatai,” he finally replied. “I know him like no one else does, which also means that I know that he´s probably sitting somewhere dark and gloomy and imagining thousand terrible scenarios in his mind, which will never happen. He´s allowing them to eat him up from the inside and if I don’t speak with him now, he´ll never talk to me about it. So, out of my way, Bane, or so the Angels help me, I will fight you.”

“He´s a few room further down this hallway,” Magnus told Jace. “Tenth door on the right side.” Jace just nodded at him and took off. Magnus just hoped that the two Shadowhunters would be able to resolve this clusterfuck of hurt, angst and love without irreparably damaging the bond between them.

Now, he better looked after Fray girl and the femme fatale before they found his porn stack under the couch.

* * *

“Here you are.” Alec looked up and saw Jace leaning against the wall near the entrance door of the room. His arms were folded, his lips curled into a slight smirk, his hair still dishevelled from the Valack´s attack, and yet Jace extruded this kind of silent confidence that spoke to Alec on an instinctual level.

“I came here to be alone,” Alec grumbled. First Magnus and now Jace. On one side, Alec really wanted to be alone, because that meant that he didn’t need to face the real world _(reality)_. As long as he hid behind the wooden crate, his problems wouldn’t find him, the pressure that he always walked under wouldn’t intensify and he could just pretend that everything was still fine _(even though it had never been fine in the first place)_. But on the other, being alone meant that all his fears that Alec had kept under lock for as long as he could remember were finally able to claw their way out of the back of his mind and try to consume him.

Loneliness meant safety; loneliness meant vulnerability, and Alec couldn’t quite decide which he preferred. Meanwhile, mirroring Magnus, Jace slid down beside him.

“I´m sorry,” Alec blurted out before Jace could even open his mouth. “I nearly got you dragged to Hell by a demon. I got you hurt. I failed and compromised the whole mission.” It was easier to apologise for these things than to actual talk about what really hung over them. The unspoken words of Alec´s confession of love.

“Fuck the mission,” Jace exclaimed heatedly. “And I wasn’t hurt. I´m fine, actually, and I´m here because you aren’t.” Alec´s heart sunk at those words. Now it was out. _‘Because you aren’t’_ , Jace knew now how wrong Alec was, how he had lusted after his own Parabatai, how he had defiled their sacred bond for years now. He now knew of the ugliness that Alec hid deep in his heart, which had been laid open for everyone to see.

“How could you?” Jace demanded to know. “Do you really think so low of me? Do you really think that I would – I don’t know – _cast you out_ or something for loving someone? Why did you never tell me?”

“What?” Alec replied, confused. This wasn’t how he had thought Jace would react. How he was supposed to react.

“All those years and you never told me,” Jace continued. “You chose to suffer in silence instead of confiding in me. Am I truly that terrible?”

“I didn’t know how you´d react,” Alec replied brokenly. “Whether you´d accept me or not.”

“But I accept you, Alec,” Jace told him, his mismatched eyes staring at Alec intensely. “I don’t care to whom you feel attracted to. I don’t care what the Clave says; what anyone says. The only people I care about are you and Isabelle – and Max. You´re my family and family will stand by you no matter what. _I_ will stand by you, no matter what.”

Alec wanted to cry. It was like the weight of a thousand worlds was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. For the first time since ages it felt like he could breathe without suffocating on his insecurities. Maybe Jace would never reciprocate his feelings, but Alec´s greatest fear, ever since he had first felt this burning desire flooding his veins when he had looked at Jace, had always been to be dejected by his family. But Jace´s words – together with those that Magnus had spoken to him previously – finally laid those fears to rest.

“I won´t lie to you, Alec, because you deserve honesty,” Jace continued, “You´re my best friend, my brother, my Parabatai and there´s nothing I wouldn’t do for you – _nothing_ – but I´ll never feel this way about you. It´s cruel, I know, but it´s better to tell you now, instead of stringing you along on a fantasy that´ll never come true. Because now you can focus on healing and one day you´ll meet an awesome guy for whom you´ll fall head over heels and you won´t even waste a single thought on me when you do.”

“You really believe that?” Alec asked.

“I do,” Jace replied without hesitation. His expression was so full of confidence, trust and absolute believe in Alec that, for a single moment, it felt like Alec´s heart was about to burst. Maybe Alec would heal and would one day find the right person to be with, but right now he was still allowed to grief for all the hidden fantasies destroyed and the wishes accumulated over the years of his life.

“Thanks.” Alec wanted to add more, but there were just no words forthcoming. He wanted to express his utter relief that Jace accepted him for who he truly was, that he would still have his back no matter was. Alec wanted to say that the abject fear that had ruled his life up until now – that had lurked even in his happiest moments – was suddenly gone and that the future didn’t look as oppressing as it had been a mere hours ago. But instead, Jace laid one hand on his shoulders and the reassuring touch was everything needed for them.

They were Parabatai, theirs was a bond that the Shadowhunters held most sacred, and sometimes words weren’t needed when there was a connection that run so deep that Alec doubted that even love could compare.

* * *

  **1953**

* * *

"Why are you up already?” Magnus asked with raised eyebrows as Simon descended the stairs. “It´s Sunday. No school, no work, no obligations. You should be asleep for at least another three hours.” He took a bite off his croissant. “Let me enjoy the silence.”

“You don’t enjoy silence,” Simon shot back. “You detest it.” Magnus nodded his head in affirmation. Simon had told him about the rogue vampire yesterday. The Warlock had laid a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry; that he would share the information with representatives of the Clave and that they would take care of it. ‘The only thing they´re actually good at,’ he had joked. Simon didn’t inquire any further because at this time he had already so much on his plate without adding another supernatural problem to the pile. 

“And besides, Raphael asked me if I wanted to go to the park with him today.” Simon remembered well (it had been just yesterday, after all): They had finished with their game of Dungeons and Dragons and after Raphael´s mother had put his little brothers to sleep, Raphael himself had accompanied Simon to the next bus station. They were standing under the solitary street light that would occasional flicker and drown the street in darkness before it took up its brave fight again.

Raphael had looked kind of queasy, though, his expression changing between something neutral and the face of someone who was about to walk to the gallows. Simon had been just about to straight out ask the other boy what was wrong, when Raphael suddenly blurted out: “Do you want to go to the park with me tomorrow?” Before Simon could answer, however, Raphael was already continuing: “I mean, you don’t have to, but you told me that you´d just sit around at home all day and the weather forecast is quite good for tomorrow and what friend would I be if I let you rot at home…”

“I´m in,” Simon had interrupted and he didn’t know if it had been just his imagination, but Raphael´s cheeks had taken a slight red tint after that.

“Central Park?” Magus asked Simon, tearing the boy out of his memories.

“Nah,” Simon replied. “I know that Raphael cannot afford the fare, so it´s probably the local one.”

“I could give you money to lend to him,” Magnus offered as he took another spoonful of his cereals.

“That´s nice, but I don’t think he´d want that,” Simon told the Warlock. “Something about pride and not being a charity case.” He rummaged through the cabinets until his gaze fell on the package standing right next to Magnus.

“Hey, they´re mine!” Simon exclaimed indignantly.

“Fight me for it!” Magnus snapped back, which Simon consequently did.

 _Spoiler:_ In the end, they had to clean the whole kitchen while none of them got any of the cereals (expect for the ones Magnus had already eaten).

* * *

Raphael should have known that his mother would know something was wrong the moment he set his foot in the kitchen. She didn’t even need to say something, just arching her eyebrows at him was enough to make Raphael´s whole posture deflate.

“I asked Simon if he wanted to go to the park with me,” he told his mother, who just beckoned for him to continue with a flourish gesture of her hand in which she held the rolling pin. “I wanted to take him to Central Park, but I don’t have the money for the fare.”

“Aw, sweetie.” His mother laid aside her backing utensil and walked around the table, pressing Raphael´s head against her chest while she ran her fingers through his hair. Because he was despondent, Raphael allowed the embarrassingly show of motherly affection happen without protest.

“From what I´ve seen of Simon he doesn’t strike me as type who would be averse to just go to the local park,” she told him. “I´m sure he´d understand.” Raphael didn’t know how he should tell his mother that he thought that Simon deserved something better than the local park. Even though they had not known each other for that long, he felt some kind of deeper connection to the other boy that he didn’t have with his other friends. Simon had decided to stick with him even though many other avenues had been open for him – he had the money and the looks that would have made the popular crowd at school welcome him with open arms – and Raphael felt like he should show Simon somehow that he was grateful for such loyalty.

“He´s my friend,” he only said, but he knew that his mother understood.

“I see,” she sighed. She let go of Raphael and walked over to their drawer, rummaging through the lower drawer until she found what she was looking for.

“That should cover your fares and some ice cream for each of you.” She turned around and put a few crumpled dollar bills on the table.

“I can´t take that,” Raphael whispered with wide eyes. He was very well aware of how short of money their household was (thankfully his brother´s weren’t, at least not yet) and what his mother had given him would be enough to get them something warm on the table for nearly two days. His mother, though, just placed the money on his palms and closed his fingers around it.

“I won´t have any son of mine feel inadequate,” she told him in a voice of steel, her stare full of resolve. “You´ll take that boy of yours to Central Park and have the best day you could possible have.”

“Mamá, he´s just a friend,” Raphael protested.

“Then you´ll just have a nice day with your friend,” his mother said unapologetic. And then she winked at him. Before Raphael could say anything, though, the doorbell rang. With one last evil glare at his witch of a mother, Raphael made his way to the door and opened it to an apparently very enthusiastic Simon.

“Ready to goooo!” the other boy hollered and Raphael just wanted to facepalm and turn around. But he didn’t. Instead, he took his jacket and closed the door, not before his mother could shout “Have fun boys!” after them, though.

“So,” Simon began to ask as they trudged along the street. “Magnus gave me this whole bag of old bread to feed to the ducks.” He held up said bag, who did look a lot like it was about to burst. “I don’t even know if there are any ducks where we are going.” He looked at Raphael. “Where _are_ we going, anyway?”

“Central Park,” Raphael replied and the way Simon´s whole face lit up was definitely worth the money he was about to spend.

“Nice, so there´ll definitely will be ducks.”

* * *

There were, indeed, many ducks in Central Park and they all came to get some of Magnus Bane´s Wonder Bread. That was how Simon called it in his head, at least.

“You look ridiculous,” Raphael smirked as he stood beside Simon. The latter just stuck out his tongue.

“You´re just envious because no duck will come near you,” Simon retorted. It had been, indeed, very funny to see the ducks make a wide arch around Raphael, even though he tried to lure them with the same bread as Simon did. But apparently, the ducks were intimidated by his intense glare. When Simon pointed out that particular observation, the only thing it had gotten him was Raphael´ throwing his bread at Simon´s head which was shortly followed by a swarm of ducks lunging after it.

“I´m the King of Ducks,” Simon proclaimed. One was sitting on his head, one on each shoulder while the others were milling around him, begging for his scraps. “And these are my loyal subjects, poised to attack any foe who dares to invade my kingdom. Woe on thee, Raphael!” This time the other boy did facepalm.

“Aw, come one,” Simon gushed. “You know you want one, too.” On impulse, Simon grabbed a duck – which continued to munch happily on its piece of bread – and put it on Raphael´s head, where it, much to both of their surprise, stayed. A woman next to them huffed indignantly and began to pull her child away from them, much to the child´s dismay.

“Man, what I´d give for a selfie right now,” Simon sighed. “Hashtag ducksofnewyork, hashtag duckface.” Raphael just looked at him confused.

“Just take care of your duck,” Simon placated him. “We should call it Humphrey, because it´s probably as grumpy as you. It´s the only one here that actually likes you.”

“You like me, too, don’t you?” Momentarily thrown off by Raphael´s boldness, Simon just gaped at him before he caught himself again.

“Of course I do,” Simon replied jovially. “No duck could ever replace you.” Both Raphael and Humphrey looked quite pleased with that.

Sadly, Magnus’ bread supply didn’t last forever and it turned out that a duck´s loyalty did only extend as far as the bread it was given, so Simon and Raphael soon found themselves alone again, except for Humphrey, who still sat on Raphael´s head.

“Do you want some ice cream?” Raphael asked.

“I´d die for some!” Simon exclaimed. “Let´s go to the next vendor. Humphrey can come with us.”

“I don’t think we´re allowed to take him with us,” Raphael replied.

“Let me tell you right now, Humphrey is a free duck and he goes wherever he wants to go,” Simon said. “And right now, Humphrey wants to go with us, don’t you?” Humphrey just tilted his head to the side which Simon took as a yes. Raphael just sighed exasperated, but then they were making their way towards the where they could hear the faint sound of ice cream truck music.

When they were about to leave the park´s premise, Humphrey took flight and rejoined his duck brethren back at the lake. Raphael ruffled through his hair, trying to straighten it out again, but the duck had left his hair quite messed up and as such his efforts were to no avail.

They ordered their ice cream – Simon took chocolate and strawberry, like he always did – and he was about to pay for both of them, when Raphael handed over the money to the vender.

“You needn’t have,” Simon told him afterwards.

“I wanted to,” Raphael replied. Somehow, that made the butterflies in Simon´s stomach only flap their wings even faster and he could feel how the heat was travelling to his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and licked at his ice cream, hoping that it would help him to calm down. “I just…” Simon couldn’t quite finish, for suddenly someone barged into him from behind, making him (and his ice cream) crash to the ground. The guy didn’t even look around or something; no, he just continued on as if nothing happened.

“Asshole!” Raphael shouted after him, much to the affront of the people walking past them. He bent down next to Simon and helped him up, taking in his condition with critical eye.

“My shirt´s definitely ruined,” Simon moaned, looking down on the big stain of ice cream and dirt that covered his whole front. “Magnus´ gonna be so pissed.” He looked down on the pitiful rests of his ice cream on the ground. “And I lost my ice cream, too.” He must have looked truly pathetic, standing there completely dirty, looking down on the broken ice cream cone.

“You can have mine,” Raphael said and offered him his half-eaten ice cream.

“Nah,” Simon replied. “I can´t take your ice cream in good consciousness.” Then he dashed forward, taking the cone from Raphael´s outstretched hand. “Lucky then, that I don’t feel any remorse when it comes to ice cream.” Raphael stared at his empty hand, but then he just shook his head.

“Do you want to go back home?” he asked instead. “You know, because of…” He didn’t finish, instead pointing at the mess that was Simon´s t-shirt.

“It´s fine, really,” Simon replied. “The whole world should know that, while I lost my ice cream and t-shirt to the forces of evil and banksters, in the end, I did prevail.” He licked at his ice cream. “Nothing comes between a Lewis and their ice cream.”

“You´re so weird,” Raphael commented, but he said it with a small smile on his face.

“The world would be pretty boring if everyone was normal, wouldn’t it?” Simon pointed out. “The greatest mind of humanity were those that dared to think outside the box.”

“And you´d call yourself a great mind then?” Raphael asked with arched eyebrows.

“I aspire to be,” Simon replied and maybe that was the most profound insight of that day.

* * *

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Simon told Raphael when they exited the subway and stood at the street corner from which they would go their separate ways. “It kills you.” The moment they had been out in the fresh air, Raphael had taken out a cigarette and lit it up, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke in a cloud of greyness.

“Please?” Simon pleaded. Raphael sighed, but after the next draw he threw the still glowing cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.

“Thanks,” Simon said. “Anyway, I had fun today, despite my shirt being ruined by some fancy dressed asshole.”

“I had fun, too,” Raphael admitted. “I think I´ll miss Humphrey.”

“Maybe we can do it again, sometimes?” Simon suggested. “Visit Humphrey.”

“I think I´d quite like that.”

And under the street light and its ember glow that was reflected in Raphael´s eyes like dying embers of fire, for a moment it looked like Raphael was slowly tilting his head towards him, as if he wanted to kiss Simon. The moment extended, until it seemed as if their whole existence was encapsulated by it – time stopped, the world froze – and then Raphael´s lips touched Simon´s.

It wasn’t Simon´s first kiss, but there was something to it, that made it the most special he had ever received. A shy tenderness, a slow carefulness but simultaneously also demanding and luring Simon in with the promise of something more. Raphael´s lips tasted like cold smoke and the faint hints of chocolate and vanilla and Simon wanted to bottle up the scent and drown in it.

But theirs was a moment, so frail that the smallest thought, the smallest doubt, could shatter it like a rose made of glass, and so it came that Raphael suddenly pushed Simon away with the vehemence of the damned.

“I…I can´t,” Raphael stuttered. “I..it´s wrong.” He turned around and just ran, leaving behind a confused Simon, standing at the street corner underneath the lonely street light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love <3 Until next year (because I don´t think I´ll manage another chapter in 2016)!


	11. Arc I: Prophetia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There´s some soul searching, a prophecy and angst...so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just read the note on the first chapters, which said "three to five chapters" lol I felt inspired by the start of season two to marathon write this in one day. 
> 
> **Please note!** This chapter gets pretty dark towards the end. Please read the updated tags. You can find a more detailed warning in the notes at the end.

**1953**

* * *

For a while Simon could do nothing but stare in the street that Raphael had vanished into. For a short moment – a blink of an eye, really – he contemplated following the other and trying to talk to him, but he was too shocked to react and then Raphael had already vanished around the corner.

“ARGH!” Simon screamed and in his rage he rammed his fist against the nearby wall. An unhealthy crunch echoed through the silent street and then pain surged through his arm. The skin on his knuckles had burst open and now blood was pouring out of his wounds, dropping on the grey concrete of the street.

How could he have been so stupid? Ruining the friendship he had with Raphael, and for what? For a fleeting kiss, the uncertain prospect of maybe something more in a society that was riddled with bigotry, racism and intolerance? Had that short moment of ecstasy been worth the doubt and self-loathing he had probably instilled in Raphael? Had it been worth the shattered remains of their friendship Simon was now standing in front of?

Simon was ashamed that the answer to all those questions was ‘Yes’. Never had he felt so free, so happy, so unrestrained as in these split seconds when Raphael and his’ lips had touched and this connection had surfaced between them.

And yet, Simon also thought he did Raphael a great injustice, for there were moments when Simon looked at the other boy and didn’t see the human of 1953, but the vampire he would be in the future. This Raphael deserved something better than being used as a stand-in for his future self that was unattainable to Simon and yet he couldn’t help himself but fall for the younger version of his Raphael that was still so innocent and untarnished by the cruelties of the world.

There were all these emotions wrangling in Simon´s chest that made it difficult for him to breath. There had always been some sort of attraction between him and his Raphael, some sort of magnetism that drew Simon to the vampire who was so full of contradiction. But Simon had been very much aware that Raphael would never see him like that, buried too deep in his feelings of self-deprecation because of his vampirism. And Simon just hadn’t wanted to burden Raphael with another cross to care.

He had just put that cross on his younger self instead. Simon laughed, a hollow and unfriendly sound. There was a person walking down the street, but when they saw Simon standing there, laughing manically and blood dripping from his injured hand, they quickly changed to the other side of the road, probably afraid for their life.

Simon just trudged on, towards Magnus’ home, just wanting to hide underneath his covers and never come back out again.

“What happened to you?” Magnus asked when opened the door, looking pointedly at Simon´s hand which was covered in blood.

“I hit a wall,” Simon replied, barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Magnus didn’t press further, instead ushering him inside and then taking him to the kitchen where he sat Simon down on one of the stools. He took Simon´s hand into his own and mumbled something. Simon could feel sudden warmth surging through his numb fingers, could feel the pain receding and the sinews knitting themselves back together. It felt like a small eternity, but when Magnus let go of his now fully healed hand, Simon realised that it had only taken a few seconds.

“Thanks,” Simon mumbled, rubbing his hand and fletching his healed fingers as if he had just gotten a new hand.

“Now, will you tell me what that poor wall did to you to deserve such treatment?” Magnus asked. He snipped with his fingers and another stool floated towards them on which Magnus sat down, his intense gaze never leaving Simon.

Silence descended upon them as Simon wrangled with himself. Should he tell Magnus what had transpired between Raphael and him? Or should he just lie, hoping that Magnus wouldn’t pick up on it _(which he always did)_? It wasn’t that Simon thought that Magnus would react negatively – of course not! He knew the warlock long enough to know that he didn’t care about who you loved or what society thought of it. No, rather it was that Simon didn’t know if he should share something so personal, so intimate, with the man sitting in front of him, when he didn’t even have the chance to process it himself.

But on the other hand, Simon needed someone to talk to. He felt like he was about to burst with all the things unsaid, all the emotions that needed a voice and there was no one besides Clary who he would trust more with his inner turmoil than Magnus. The warlock must have noticed the conflict that occurred in Simon´s mind, for he carefully put his hand atop Simon´s. It was a gesture of support and friendship; nothing more and nothing less.

“I know that I´m not the Magnus of your future with whom you´re familiar with,” he said. “But I´m the person he was and I´m going to be the person you know, so whatever is holding you back, don’t let it be that.”

“I fucked up,” Simon finally blurted out. “I fucked up so badly.”

“What do you think you ‘fucked up’?” Magnus asked.

“I…I kissed Raphael,” Simon confessed.

“Well, your kiss couldn’t have been so bad that you feel like you fucked it up,” Magnus joked, but Simon´s misery must have shown so much that his serious expression returned within a split second.

“He ran,” Simon whispered. “He pushed me away, told me how wrong it was and then he just ran away.”

“I´m sorry,” Magnus said.

“There´s nothing you have to apologise for,” Simon mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sorry for the pain you must go through,” Magnus replied. “After all, I know what you´re going through. I lived through it myself several times.” Simon looked up and saw the same raw pain in Magnus’ eyes that also must have showed in his own.

“Misery loves company,” he said drily.

“Then you must believe me that Raphael didn’t mean what he said,” Magnus continued. “He´s trapped. Trapped by his church, by the society he lives in, and maybe even trapped by his own friends and family. They all have this canon of how people are supposed to live and show nothing but disdain for those that won´t fit in.”

“He sounded pretty serious, though,” Simon replied.

“Because he thinks he is,” Magnus told Simon. “What he did and what he feels goes against everything he´s ever been taught. From what you´ve told me, his family is a religious one, like nearly everyone around here. Do you know what his God says about homosexuality?”

Simon shock his head. “Only the stuff the Christians copied from us. But I know enough because some Christian supremacists like to throw these particular parts around even in the future.”

“Then imagine how you´d feel in his shoes,” Magnus said. “How you´d feel if you knew for sure that your own God would condemn you for what you feel – _for what you are_.” Simon opened his mouth and then closed it again, because he just didn’t know what to say. Maybe Simon never went to the Synagogue regularly and he may also have ditched Tora lessons in favour of watching movies with Clary, but Simon considered being Jewish part of his core identity. He celebrated Pesach and Chanukah, had hung on the lips of his father when he told Simon and his sister the stories of their people and one day Simon wanted a traditional Jewish marriage ceremony. Before they had come to the US, the Lewis had lived in Colombia, so they thankfully hadn’t lost any of their members to the Holocaust, but it still chilled Simon to the core whenever he thought about it.  

Simon sincerely believed that his God had created him exactly the way he was and as such there was nothing wrong with who he was or how he felt. Simon´s whole existence came from Him, so how could there be anything wrong with it? It was this sentiment that helped Simon get through his phase of self-discovery when he was a teenager. He couldn’t imagine, though, how someone would feel if they truly believed that they were abominations in front of their deity.

“What should I do?” he asked Magnus as the ramifications of such a train of thought dawned on him.

“I don’t know,” Magnus answered. “There´s no general instruction for people. Some need to be left alone, because they have to deal and heal by themselves first and infringing upon that would only lead to them being pushed away further. Others _need_ support, lest they drown in their own self-hate and destruct. I don’t know which type Raphael is.”

“I don’t know either,” Simon said dejectedly. “What if he hates me now?”

“It´s a possibility you have to live with,” Magnus replied. “But there´s also the possibility that he doesn’t, once he works through it. Do you really want to let that chance pass by?” Simon shock his head. “No, I don’t.” He looked up at Magnus.

“Thank you,” Simon told the warlock with all the honesty he could muster.

“It´s nothing,” Magnus reassured Simon. “Just go and get your man, that´s all.”

* * *

The next day found Simon standing in front of his school, waiting for Raphael to arrive. It was already ten minutes after Raphael´s usual arrival time and the sinking feeling in his stomach told Simon that Raphael probably wouldn’t come today at all. Yet, he continued standing there, much to the confusion of the other students that passed him by. After all, everyone knew that Simon didn’t have much people to wait for. Simon ignored the clock and the last straggler that tried to slip into their classes without the teachers noticing them and only when the whole yard laid empty before him, he admitted to himself that Raphael wasn’t coming. Shoulders dropping, Simon turned around and started to walk towards the door, already dreading the lecture of Ms Lewis (no relation, whatsoever), his geography teacher.

“Lewis.” Simon contemplated just ignoring the voice, but his moment of indecisiveness was what cost him that choice, so instead he let go of the door and turned around.

“Brittany.” Simon hadn’t seen her since the day the vampire had broken into her house, killed her butler and tried to kill them. It had been barely a week ago, but to Simon it felt like another life. Brittany hadn’t been to school since then, but apparently that was over now.

He regretted telling her of the vampire´s true origins, though. He should never have, but both of them had just barely escaped death and Simon had still been high on adrenalin, so he hadn’t been able to think everything through. When Brittany had asked, it had just spilled out of him, but now he just wished that he could take everything back.

Brittany looked as immaculate as ever, her blonde hair draped into the newest style, her lipstick on spot and her mascara flawless. “Walk with me?” It was more of a command than an actual question, so Simon took the offered arm. Besides, they had the same class anyway. The silence between them as they made their way towards the classroom was more than a little awkward and Simon was more than relived when they finally stood in front of the classroom door.

“You haven’t anything planned for today, haven’t you?” Brittany asked, positioning herself in front of him, so that Simon couldn’t reach the door.

“No.” It slipped out before Simon could hold it back and inwardly he cursed himself for it.

“Great,” Brittany exclaimed, her smile all teeth. “Because I need you to accompany me.”

“Why would I do that?” Simon wanted to know, equally confused and annoyed.

“I managed to locate a woman who claims that she can see the future. Esmeralda, our maid knows surprisingly much about the occult going-ons in this city,” Brittany revealed. “And I want you to come with me.”

“No.” Simon´s reply was fast and succinct.

“Please.” Brittany looked like it cost her a lot of effort to utter that particular word towards Simon. “After the attack…I just need to know if that monster will ever come back for me or my parents.”

“And you think that some fortune teller will tell you that?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow at the girl. “Even if that woman is real – which is a big if – knowing the future is more of a burden than anything else.”

“I need to keep my family safe,” Brittany replied. “And if that fortune teller can help me even in the slightest, then it´s an opportunity well worth the risk.” She sighed. “You know this world, Simon. You knew how to defend yourself against that thing. I need you to come with me.”

“A fortune teller won´t help you with that,” Simon tried as last-ditch effort. “Just forget about it.”

“I can´t,” Brittany said, voice barely above a whisper. “I´ll go, no matter what you say. Either she´s just a charlatan, in which case I only wasted my time, or she´s the real deal, in which case you can only protect me if you´re coming with me.”

“Fine, I´ll go with you,” Simon grinded out, knowing when he was played. He could just decline, but if the witch was truly genuine Brittany needed him and his knowledge of the Accords, lest she signed her soul over or something similar. They would probably just waste their time, but even though Simon didn’t like Brittany, he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her because of him.

“Thanks.” For a moment, something akin to genuine relief and gratitude flashed over Brittany´s expression before the familiar haughtiness was back. “Better go in now, Ms Lewis will chew us a new one for being late.”

Again, Brittany was right.

* * *

When school had finished, Simon waited at Brittany´s car for the other girl, because he doubted that they would walk to wherever the fortune teller was situated at. Brittany came out of the school building surrounded by a gaggle of girls that hung on her every word, cooing and aweing at whatever the other girl was telling them. It was quite nauseating, at least in Simon´s opinion.

“Ready?” Brittany asked when the group had dispersed.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Simon insisted.

“Noted,” Brittany replied and even though Simon couldn’t see it, he could just imagine the blonde rolling her eyes at him behind the shades.

“Why are you even wearing those?” Simon asked, pointing at the glasses. “It´s not that sunny.” This time he was sure that Brittany was rolling her eyes at him.

“It´s fashion,” she replied. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand anything about it.”

“Because I´m beneath you?” Simon bristled.

“No,” Brittany drawled. “Because you´re a boy. Now, hop in, because I don’t want to stand here, arguing with you for the rest of the day.”

They stopped in front of a shop which sign read “Alabaster – Tea For Every Of Your Needs”. They were in a part of town Brittany probably never had been before, not because it was poor or criminal ridden, but rather because the people that passed them by weren’t of the ‘decent’ kind. As Simon exited the car, he slammed the door shut with more force than what was strictly necessary, just to let Brittany know what he thought of this whole endeavour.

“Brittany, I beg you, don’t do this,” Simon implored the girl. “Asking for your future never ends well.”

“I need to know if that monster will come back,” Brittany replied. “I won´t be able to sleep, knowing that there´ll be a chance that I´ll find my parents dead when I wake up again.”

“I feel you, I really do,” Simon said, “but you know nothing about this.”

“That´s why you´re here,” Brittany told him. “Besides, she´s probably a charlatan, anyway.” And with that she pushed the doors to the store open and entered, leaving Simon no chance but to follow her.

“How may I be of help to you?” The woman behind the counter certainly didn’t look like a ‘witch’ able to predict the future. Of Asian descent, she had her black hair cut short (it barely reached her shoulders) while she wore a simple white blouse and some blue jeans, which was pretty untypical, if not even unheard of, in this time period. Simon didn’t know how old she was exactly, but she looked barely above thirty.

“I was told that you could predict the future,” Brittany replied.

“Told by whom?” the shop owner wanted to know.

“That doesn’t matter,” Brittany cut her off. “But I need to know if a certain man will come for me. Money´s not an issue.”

“It´s not that easy,” the woman replied.

“Money´s not an issue,” Brittany repeated, as if she was used to throw money around to make things go her way – which she probably was, Simon supposed. “How much do you want? 50 Dollars? A hundred?” Simon knew that this was much money (inflation was a bitch), yet the woman behind the counter just pursed her lips in disapproval.

“The future is only for the worthy and deserving,” she replied evenly. “No amount of money can make me predict it for _you_.”

“I knew it,” Brittany harrumphed. “You´re just a charlatan. You probably couldn’t predict the future even if your life depended on it.”

“Think whatever you want,” the shop owner shot back.

“You were right, Simon.” Brittany turned to him. “This was a waste of time.” Simon, just glad that this was finally over, was ready to go when a book on one of the shelves caught his attention. It was a copy of the Accords.

 “She´s no charlatan,” Simon whispered to Brittany, who just rolled her eyes.

“You´ve heard her,” she whispered back. “’The future is only for the worthy and deserving’, that´s obviously an excuse for her inability to deliver on her promises.”

“Oh, you stupid child,” the woman suddenly taunted. “You think yourself so mighty, with your father´s money and name protecting you of the consequences of your actions. He –“ she pointed at Simon “- knows what this world is made of and what it takes to survive and thrive in it. You don’t deserve to know your future, it´s a gift wasted on you. But he….”

“Thanks, but no,” Simon said hastily, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

“Why so hesitant?” the witch asked, cackling madly. “You came here for the future and that´s what you shall receive.”

“We need to go,” Simon whispered to Brittany, tugging at her sleeve. The girl just nodded and then they were turning around and running towards the entrance. Before they could reach it, though, the door slammed shut, moved by an unseen hand.

“It´s impolite to leave without the host´s blessings,” the witch hissed. She rolled her head back and when she looked at them again, her eyes were completely white. Brittany let out a shriek while Simon renewed his attempts at getting them out of the room. The lights above them began to flicker and a sudden wind was whirling through the room, creating havoc in its wake. And then the woman spoke, hundreds of voices pouring out of her mouth:   

_“Oh, traveller on the waves of time,_

_listen as I speak,_

_for mine is the tiding of three deaths_

_you shall suffer through._

_One by love._

_One by family._

_One by friend._

_The first to bring you back._

_The second to cast you down._

_The last to set you free._

_And beware those under whose hands_

_illusions bloom like roses in winter,_

_for theirs shall be the thrust_

_that will destroy your world.”_

Then, like someone had cut the ropes holding her up, the witch let out one laboured breath before she crumbled down on the ground. The wind abated, the lights stopped flickering and whatever force had held the door shut suddenly went away, so that Simon and Brittany nearly fell over themselves as they scrambled out of the store, not caring about the strange looks they received from other pedestrians.

Simon just needed to get away.

_For mine is the tiding of three deaths._

* * *

Raphael stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at the reflection staring back at him. His brothers were with friends and his mother was volunteering at the local church, so he was alone, which suited Raphael quite fine. Because his greatest fear was that the more time she spent in his presence, his mother would just take a single look at him and see all the wrongness that he tried to hide. Would she see the sinful thoughts swirling behind his eyes? Would she see the kiss on Raphael´s lips? The tousled hair through which Simon had run his hand through?

Raphael looked at himself again and wondered why his corrupt self wasn’t showing through. Why wasn’t his hair falling out, his teeth turning yellow, his skin sagging and his eyes turning red? Shouldn’t God want to warn everyone of Raphael and his tainted thoughts?

Three days had passed since Raphael had given in to his weakness. Three days that he hadn’t spent in school, because he just couldn’t see Simon. Three days of mental agony, fear and doubt and yet, Raphael didn’t deserve anything less for what he had done.

 _"You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination."_ His pastor´s voice echoed through Raphael´s head, thundering and accusing. Raphael wanted to hide – himself, his thoughts, his shame – but he knew that it was a fruitless endeavour. What would his mother think of him? It physically hurt to imagine the disgust and horror that she must feel, and the shame he had brought over his family. How could he ever show his face again? How could he ever be pure again?

How could he ever look at his brothers again, decrepit being that he was? What if he wanted to do harm to them, to do the same things to them as he had with Simon like men of his kind were wont to?

_"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."_

Raphael´s gaze fell upon the razor lying on the sink. Slowly, because his hands where shaking so much, he took it. He turned it around in his hand for a moment while he watched the blade gleaming under the light. It was his father´s, which Raphael had only started to use recently. Maybe it was fitting that the last thing that remained of his father would help Raphael to purify himself.

Slowly, like in trance, Raphael put the razor to his wrist. For a short moment, he let the blade just hovered there, above his skin that was still so unblemished and pure, unlike the soul that was hidden underneath it.

_Cut._

There wasn’t any pain at first. Detached, Raphael watched as the blood began pouring out of the small cut on his skin, the drops falling in the sink; blood red to snow white, such a stark contrast. But it wasn’t enough. Not enough.

_Cut._

Raphael could feel something now. A sting first, then a throbbing that was slowly creeping up his arm until it filled his whole body. There were so many sensations, they threatened to overwhelm him. Raphael could see the particles of dust floating in the air, could hear the electricity buzzing above him, could feel every single hair on his body stand up.

_Cut._

There was a steady flow of blood now and Raphael thought, that, maybe he could just let the wrongness bleed out of him. Maybe each red drop was a little less sin, a little less taint. Maybe if Raphael bled enough, he would be right again one day.

_Cut._

Christ bled for the sins of men, so why shouldn’t Raphael bleed for his own?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Raphael cuts himself in order to 'bleed the wrongness out of him', furthermore he equates homosexuality with pedophilia due to the prejudices of the society he lives in. He also thinks of himself as something 'wrong, tainted, corrupt' because of his religious background.


	12. Arc I: Confessio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon suddenly finds himself as part of the cast of High School Musical and Raphael finds himself in his church, ready to confess his sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to squeeze in another chapter. I´ll be on vacation from Feb 20th to March 6th (NYC and WDC, yeah!), so don´t expect any updates any time soon ;)
> 
> PS: There´ll be more supernatural events in the upcoming chapters (I just say that, but idk if it´s true, depends where the story takes me)

**1953**

* * *

Raphael didn’t come to school the next day either. Again, Simon stood in front of the entrance door and watched the incoming students, looking for the familiar black hair, the tanned skin and the kind brown eyes, but when the last student had passed him, Simon had to admit that Raphael probably wasn’t coming.

For a short moment – just a split second – cold fear gripped Simon´s heart as he thought about Raphael having already left the school, without Simon even noticing, because he just couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. But then he remembered how proud Raphael had been of having received a scholarship for this particular school and how neither the derision of the other students nor the cold dismissal of the teachers had managed to drive him away, so Simon just had to believe that he wouldn’t manage it either.

He sighed and turned around, dreading the day that was to come.

As he sat in his first lesson (the place next to him empty, pitying gazes all around), Simon was glad that he didn’t share any lesson with Brittany until the first break at least. He didn’t trust himself to control himself around her; not after what had happened yesterday. There was a tentative understanding between them, and he didn’t want to destroy that with the hurtful words that were stewing within him.

Simon had warned Brittany – again and again and again – that going to that fortune teller was a bad idea, but Brittany, in her arrogance and hubris hadn’t listened to him. From all the stories he had heard, Simon knew that prophecies and other related stuff spelt nothing but misfortune and suffering for those affected by it. You just needed to look up Oedipus to have that confirmed. The fortune teller would have been either a fraud, but the worse alternative – which as his luck would have was also the alternative that happened – would have been that she was real.

Simon should have put his food down, should have forced Brittany to just listen to him, because unlike her, he knew this world and all of its dangers and traps. One false word, one wrong gesture could have you killed, or worse have you enslaved to beings that knew neither love nor empathy. Brittany thought of the supernatural just as an extension of her world, where she could throw her name and money around to get what she wanted, but the Shadow World was a separate entity of its own – with its own customs, laws and people – and he should have made that clearer from the beginning on.

But Simon hadn’t. Because he had seen the desperation and the fear in Brittany´s eyes and he had understood it. Could emphasise with her and her need to regain at least a little bit of the footing she had lost ever since they had survived the vampire attack.

And now he had a prophecy hanging over his head.

Simon hadn’t told Magnus. He didn’t know why, because the words had been on the tip of his tongue when he had come back yesterday. As Magnus had set the table and served some Indonesian dish Simon had never even heard of before _(and he had lived in New York his whole life; you could practically eat everything here!)_ everything that had occurred on that day was about to spill out of Simon, because he just couldn’t hold it back anymore, couldn’t bear the pressure anymore, but when he wanted to speak, nothing had come out.

He had looked at Magnus, who had told some story Simon couldn’t remember anymore, and thought with what right he burdened the Warlock with his problems. Magnus had taken him in, cared for him and had demanded nothing in return and Simon would unload another of his problems on the man´s shoulders. He knew that Magnus already had a lot to struggle with – mediating between the Downworlder fractions of the city, caring for the other Warlocks and always trying to keep the Clave´s ever watchful eyes away from his people – so Simon couldn’t just be so selfish and add another weight on Magnus’ shoulders. The Warlock had already done enough for Simon, so for once he could do something for Magnus.

The bell tore Simon out of his thoughts. As he put his stuff back in his bag, he noticed that he had no clue what the lesson had been about, but he couldn’t even pretend to care. Nearly all of it would be obsolete anyway, if – _no, once, Simon had to remind himself_ – he got home.

He walked the corridors like a shadow, noticed by none and watched as the pupils found their groups to make their way towards the cafeteria. It really looked as if it came straight out of Grease _(even though there was nothing straight about that movie, at least in Simon´s opinion)_ and for a short moment that thought made Simon smile. Yet, it also made his heart twinge as Simon remembered that sixty years in the future there were his own friends waiting for him. Clary, Maureen, his other band mates – he wondered what they were doing right now.

Besides Raphael (and maybe Brittany, but Simon wouldn’t even admit that in the sanctuary of his own mind) he hadn’t forged any real connections with the people surrounding him, because Simon had thought that it would only hurt more once he had to leave them behind. But apparently, going home was only happening when some orb vaguely connected to the Greek Fates thought that he had done whatever it had sent him here for in the first place. Bottom line, though, was that Simon sat on his own at a table as far away from everyone as possible. Magnus had bagged him something from yesterday´s dish and Simon couldn’t believe that it still tasted so good.

Simon was so focused on his food that he noticed the other person sitting down in front of him only when their shadow darkened his field of vision.

“What are you doing here, Brittany?” Simon grumbled. “Don´t you have your own friends to sit with?” He nodded towards the group of people (mostly girls, but also a few jocks) sitting a few tables further, looking at their interaction with a mixture of surprise and horror. Apparently, Brittany striking out on her own wasn’t something that happened very often.

“Well, they´ll survive,” Brittany shrugged. “Besides, it´s not them I want to talk to.”

“Brittany, not´s not the best time,” Simon told her. “I´m really not in the mood.”

“Please, just hear me out,” Brittany pleaded. Simon knew it cost her quite an effort, so he did not stand up, but kept sitting, willing to listen to what the blonde had to say to him.

“I came here to apologise,” Brittany began, “I should have listened to you. Unlike me, you actually know this world and everything in it and I should have realised before I forced you to accompany me. And now it´s my fault that you´ve got this…prophecy hanging over your head and I feel really, really bad about that.”

“I acknowledge your apology,” Simon replied. “But like you pointed out, now I´ve got this prophecy and no apology can unmake what I´ve heard. So, if you´re here for forgiveness, then I´m sorry to tell you that right now I can´t give you any.”

“Then it´s good that I didn’t come here to alleviate my conscience,” Brittany retorted. “I just wanted you to know that I acknowledge my mistakes and want to make up for them.”

“Wow,” Simon replied flabbergasted. “That´s so mature. Did you swallow a guidebook, or something?”

“Hey!” Brittany exclaimed indignantly. “I´ll have you know that I´m not some air-headed bimbo. I have my depths!” Simon snorted. He was about to utter another good-natured barb at Brittany, when another person suddenly stood next to the table.

“Babe, watcha doing here?” Both Simon and Brittany looked up to the person speaking.

“Chad!” Brittany exclaimed and Simon had to supress another snort. Of course, the blonde, well-built, college jacket wearing jock would be called Chad. What did he expect? “I was talking with Simon about something.”

“About what?” Chad asked.

“The peace treaty of Versailles and how it inevitably led to the Nazis’ rise to power in Germany and World War Two,” Simon replied.

“Yeah,” Brittany nodded. “I was of the opinion that it was the crippling of Germany´s economy by the preparation payments whereas Simon thinks it was the people´s resentment towards the War Guilt clause.”

“Well, I freely admit that I don´t know enough to be judge of that,” Chad laughed. “Besides, I have you, don´t I?” Without being asked he sat down besides Brittany and gave her a peck on the cheek. 

“Wait a minute,” Simon interrupted. “Didn’t you threaten me not so long ago for insulting her and now you´re all happiness and smiles?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Chad scratched the back of his head and did seem too look sincerely contrite.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Not my finest moment. But I had to protect my girl, you see?”

“We had a discussion about appropriate behaviour,” Brittany cut in, ending the discussion permanently. To be honest, Simon didn’t really want to pursue the topic any further. What her boyfriend had done in a display of misplaced masculinity wasn’t really on his mind anymore – he had much more important things to worry about than that – and Chad didn’t seem to be…inherently malicious. Second chances and all that.

Much to Simon´s horror, though, the boy turned around and waved Brittany´s friends at the other table. “Hey guys, come over!” The whole haggle of boys and girls stood up and one minute later Simon found himself pressed between an imposing copy of Chad (only with brown hair) on one side and a petite looking brown-haired girl on the other.

“I´m Rebecca,” the girl introduced herself.

“Simon,” he replied with an uneasy smile.

“We hadn’t had the chance to talk yet,” Rebecca pointed out. _Probably because Brittany hated my guts until a few days ago_ , Simon thought, but he didn’t say anything. “Where did you live before?”

“Kansas,” Simon replied, remembering the cover story he had told everyone. “But my mother thought that I´d have better chances in live if I were to visit a school here in New York.”

“Smart woman,” the guy next to him interjected. “Jeremy.” He struck out his hand which Simon took and shook.

“So, this guy who´s always dropping you off, is he the attendant your mother sent with you?” Rebecca asked. “He must be really trusted if you allow him to drive around with your cars.”

“No,” Simon bristled. “He´s a good friend of the family and the cars are his.”

“But he´s just a…” Probably sensing that Simon was about to do something that would turn all her friends against him, Brittany suddenly spoke up.

“Hey Simon, Chad is throwing a party on Friday and you just have to come!”

“Yeah!” Chad exclaimed. “It´s gonna be awesome! I even managed to get us some booze.” The whole table erupted in cheers. Jeremy clapped Simon on the back with such force that Simon´s face nearly landed in his food.

“I can bring a few of my da´s vinyls,” another boy spoke up.

“It´s gonna be so rad,” a brunette girl next to Brittany sighed dreamily.

“Simon can sing,” Brittany interjected, grinning at Simon.

“What?!” Simon spluttered. He racked his brain for it, but he couldn’t remember ever telling her _(or Raphael for the matter, but Simon didn’t think about him now, not now)_ that he had any musical abilities whatsoever, so apparently she just wanted to embarrass Simon. He shot her an evil glare, to which she just winked at him.

“Awesome!” Chad bellowed. “Because listening to the same Ruth Brown song on repeat gets boring after a while.”

“Fuck off, Chad!” the boy who had offered to bring his father´s vinyls shouted. The table erupted with laughter.  

With growing horror Simon realised that he had just been inducted into the popular kids.

If Clary could see him now.

* * *

“Raphael, I´m dropping your brothers at Maria´s and then I´ll do the grocery shopping,” his mother spoke through the closed door. “Are you sure you don´t want to come with us?”

“I´m sure,” Raphael replied, barely loud enough that his mother would hear him from the other side of the door. She was probably going to add something, but the she just sighed and he could hear her walking down the stairs. Raphael didn’t move from where he was laying on his bed, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

It was hot in his room, but that was probably because he had started to wear sweaters to cover his forearms. He didn’t want his mother to see the cuts on his arms, the white lines that ran zig-zag across his skin, and ask questions that he didn’t want to _(couldn’t)_ answer. The shame and the horror he had felt ever he had kissed Simon were his constant companion now, permeating every fibre of his body, twisting themselves in even the deepest corners of his mind. And every time it felt like he couldn’t hold it back anymore, like he would burst from the disgust and the hate, he would walk in front of the bathroom mirror and put the razor blade to his skin.

It was the only way Raphael knew how to let all these emotions out; the only way to break the dam in his mind and to dispel the pressure that made it feel like his mind was about to break. For a short moment – when he could watch his blood circling down the drain, when he could feel nothing but the sting of the blade cutting through is skin – there was no shame, no need to hate himself, because the pain was everything. But it would always recede and the shame would come back and haunt Raphael again.

Raphael mustn’t let his mother know, though. Because he knew that one question, one gaze filled with nothing but unconditional love, would break him, make him spill all the wrongness that he held back and only allowed to bleed out of him when no one was looking and Raphael knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay and see the light in his mother´s eyes distinguish when it finally sunk in on her how wrong he was.

He wouldn’t survive that. So, he just stayed in his room, faking illness, and hoped that this confrontation would never come.

But right now, listening to the sounds of the empty house, Raphael felt like the walls around him were suffocating him, restricting his freedom of movement and suddenly Raphael just needed to get out of her, to get some fresh air.

Soon he found himself wandering the streets of his neighbourhood, and even though the sun was shining from above, to Raphael everything looked darker and more foreboding than it had before. There were cracks in the sidewalk that he had never noticed before, the paint on some of the houses was peeling off, the chains of the swing red with rust.

He didn’t know where his feet were carrying him, but he also didn’t care, going wherever his instinct was taking him. After all, Raphael knew this part of town like he knew himself _(like he had thought he knew himself)_ , had lived her since he had been born. He knew every side street, every dead end, every courtyard and the stories that had taken place there. The balcony from which Diego had jumped when his mother had put him under house arrest _(a broken arm and a lecture that made the boys feel like God´s wrath had descended upon them)_. Diego had never done it again. The sidewalk where Mrs Kittchner sold the flowers from her garden.

This was his home. And yet, it had never felt so alien to Raphael.

Later he came to a halt and when he looked up he noticed that he was standing in front of his church. It wasn´t big or grand, not like the churches in the White´s quarters with their marble, gold and silver, because theirs was a poor congregation, but it stood out between the adjacent houses nevertheless.

Raphael didn’t dare to let his gaze linger for too long, though. He should turn around and go, avoiding besmirching the holy grounds with his presence, but his body wouldn’t listen to him. The Lord was humanity´s saviour, so maybe he would save Raphael, too, from the corruption that had taken hold in his heart?

The wood of the portals was cold under his hand, even though the sun was shining outside. Raphael pushed it open and entered the church, allowing the cold air from within to wash over his skin. It felt like a silent welcome, like the church was beckoning for him to enter. He took one step forward, then another, each echoing on the stony ground. The hall laid abandoned, not a single person kneeling or praying.

Raphael could feel the stare of the statues around him and it felt like they were judging him. Trying to supress the shaking of his hands he walked forward until he stood in front of the steps that led up to the altar and the cross that hung behind it. Face distorted in pain, blood flowing from the wounds inflicted upon Him, Jesus hung there, a crown of thorns gilding his head and the letters INRI engraved upon the cross.

For the first time, Raphael noticed how much details the artist had put in the display of their Saviour´s death. He could spot single strands of hair quelling from underneath the crown, could see every single line on the figure´s face, could see ribs protruding from underneath paper-thin skin. But most outstanding of it all was the emotions that shone from the Saviour´s eyes. Raphael stood under his gaze and could practically feel the rapture, the gravitas and the forgiveness that oozed from those dark orbs.

Maybe if the Lord had forgiven the people that nailed his son to the cross, then maybe he would also forgive Raphael. He wanted to turn around and go, but then his gaze was caught by the confessional. And it hit Raphael like a train. Why hadn’t he thought of it?! Of course, he would be forgiven if he confessed and showed true contrition. There was a way for Raphael to redeem himself; he just hadn’t seen it because he had been too busy to wallow in self-pity.

Determined, Raphael walked forward until he stood in front of the wooden box. He pushed the curtain aside and took place, feeling an eerily kind of clam washing over him. Now he would just have to wait for the priest to come and take his confession.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Raphael could hear the curtains rustling and then there was someone sitting in the second booth right next to him.

“Welcome, my child,” Father Lopez, for Raphael recognised the man who held their weekly mass, spoke. “Let´s make the sign of the cross. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen,” Raphael repeated.

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

“Amen,” Raphael answered again.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” Raphael began to whisper. “It has been one month since my last confession. I accuse myself of the following sins…” His mouth suddenly went dry and he couldn’t continue speaking.

“Continue, my son,” Father Lopez spoke. “Fear not to be judged by me. It´s the Father who will judge you, but if your contrition is true then He shall forgive you.”

“I´ve desired another,” Raphael confessed, barely above a whisper. “A person that recently entered my life, who offered friendship in a hopeless place.” Raphael swallowed. “A boy.”

“I don´t know what to do,” Raphael continued, broken and desperate.

“Knowing and acknowledging that you have sinned is the first step for you to reform,” the priest spoke. Raphael could have sobbed in relief when he could detect no trace of judgement of disgust in the other man´s voice. “It seems to me that you have walked the righteous path until this boy has made his presence known in your life. Remove the temptation from your life, dedicate your life and yourself to the teachings of the Holy Mother Church and do not relapse ever again and our Lord shall forgive you.”

“But I´ll still have to see him in school,” Raphael replied.

“Do not just banish the boy from your life but also from your heart and mind,” Father Lopez advised. “Jesus, our Saviour, faced temptation many times in his life, but He never fell under its thrall because His heart and mind were pure and had no place for the earthly sins. Make your heart and mind a fortress of light and the darkness shall never take a hold of you, ever again.”

“Thank you,” Raphael replied.

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” Raphael answered.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.”

“His mercy endures forever,” Raphael concluded.

“The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace.” Knowing the traditional dismissal, Raphael crossed himself and then left the confessional box. As he walked down the aisle towards the portal of the church, he imagined that the saints looking down on him from their elevated positions approved of how he stood up against the corruption within himself.

And when he finally left the church, it felt like the sun was shining so much brighter.

* * *

  **1953**

* * *

Magnus knew that something was wrong.

He could feel it in his bones, could taste it in the air, a maelstrom of magical energies that percolated the very atmosphere around him, blanketing the whole town like snow during winter. He could feel the magic tearing at his edges, trying to take him wherever the energy went, an oily film that wouldn’t mix with his own magic who hissed at the foreign matter like a cat would to a dog. When he looked out of the windows, he could see the effects of whatever had happened: Like the polar lights, green, purple and red stripes penetrated the sky, shimmering and coiling around each other like snakes.

Magnus could feel and see all this because of his Warlock nature, but he doubted that even Mundanes were completely unaware of what was happening around them. They would call it some kind of weather phenomena, but deep down they, too, realised that it was just a lie they told themselves.

It wouldn’t be long until representatives of the Clave would come knocking at his door, demanding explanations, or more likely, demanding that he put an end to it, even though he wasn´t even the perpetrator. The Clave didn´t care much for such distinctions, though.

But until then he would stay here, standing in front of his window and enjoy the spectacle.

After all, magic, no matter what kind, was always a beauty to behold.

The knock on the door shot through the silence of his home like gunshots and for a moment Magnus contemplated just ignoring the Shadowhunters that were probably waiting on the other side of his door. He was tempted by it – he really was – but in the end, he recognised that acting childish like that would only do him more harm in the long run, so with a sigh he turned around and walked towards his door.

It wasn’t Shadowhunters waiting on the other side, though, but Simon´s blonde Mundane girl. She didn’t look good: Her normally immaculate hair was dishevelled, tears were running down her cheeks, smearing her make-up and turning her appearance akin to a Wailing Woman. But the most striking thing was the blood that was smeared all over her blouse and her hands.

“Brittany, are you hurt?” Magnus asked worriedly, taking the distraught girl by the hand and leading her inside.

“It isn´t mine,” Brittany snivelled. “The blood, it isn´t mine.”

“Then whose is it?” Magnus wanted to know, dread pooling in his stomach. Brittany looked at him, her blue eyes shining with tears and filled with fear.

“Raphael. It´s Raphael´s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop with the time jumps, they just narrow my artistic freedom, but I just can´t stop with the mysery *le sigh* 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love <3


	13. Arc I: Amicitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Magnus start an adventurous journey, while Brittany makes a journey that confronts her with an uncomfortable truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, it´s been some time, I gues?!? In my defense, I made the mistake of binge-watching 13 Reasons Why on a weekend two weeks ago and ever since then it hasn´t left my mind. Let me tell you, it certainly fucked me up. I even wrote a 10k one-shot to deal with my feelings about it (you can find it under my works here on AO3). 
> 
> But then I suddenly found my muse for this story again and wrote this chapter in one day. Furthermore, I looked over the whole story, corrected some continuity mistakes, harmonized the formatting and changed the chapter titles to a system that made it easier for me to find certain parts of the story again.

**1953**

* * *

Raphael came back to school on Thursday, the third day after the kiss.

Simon stood at the entrance of the school, his usual modus operandi by now, letting the people pass him by as he scanned the crowd for the familiar tuft of curly brown hair. He nearly did a double-take when he actually managed to make out Raphael amongst the students. Simon´s breath hitched and for a short moment he hesitated, standing there, frozen, as fear coiled around his heart. But then he took a deep breath and walked towards the other boy with determination.

“Raphael,” he called out, but the other boy just continued to walk, pretending as if he hadn’t heard Simon calling after him. Simon accelerated his steps until he stood next to Raphael. “Raphael.”

“Go away,” Raphael hissed at him. “Just leave me alone.” Cold dread washed over Simon as he heard those words.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Can we just talk about it?”

“No,” Raphael replied curtly. “There´s nothing to talk about. Nothing, do you understand me?” He turned towards Simon and in his gaze Simon could see unrelenting determination, underlaid with something manic, something he couldn’t quite grasp. “Just don´t talk to me ever again.” And with that Raphael turned his back towards Simon and walked into the school building, leaving behind a dejected looking Simon.

Simon didn’t know how he managed to make it through the first part of the day, because everything was kind of a blur in front of his eyes from that moment on. Like a zombie he walked the hallways of the school, sitting in the lessons right next to Raphael, but apart nevertheless, a gulf between them that hadn’t been there before. The next thing he knew he found himself standing in the cafeteria, tablet gripped tight. Raphael was sitting in the far corner by himself, as usual, and Simon wanted nothing more than to command his feet to go to him and sit down next to him, but instead he found himself at Brittany´s table, amongst the jocks and cheerleaders. Brittany send him a quizzing stare, but Simon refused to meet her gaze. He could just imagine how Raphael must look at him now, sitting with the people they both had previously despised so much. Simon felt ill at the thought, couldn’t quite bring himself to eat the food in front of him.

“Are you alright?” Brittany asked.

“I´m fine,” Simon mumbled. The blonde looked like she wanted to say something, but thankfully Rebecca asked her something right at this moment and Simon was never more grateful for the other´s presence as he was right now.

He managed to make it through the rest of the school day without anyone notice how close he was to falling apart and made it home to Magnus just in time to lock himself in the bathroom and have a panic attack.

As he splashed cold water on his face, Simon looked in the mirror and at himself and wondered if he had screwed everything up for good now. If there was any chance at getting back to how it was, but deep down he already knew the answer to that. Raphael hated him now. Needed to hate him now and Simon would gladly bear Raphael´s hate if it meant that Raphael wouldn’t hate himself instead. Simon could live with it, but he didn’t know if Raphael could.

“Simon?!” He heard Magnus calling through the lair. He rubbed his face dry and then he unlocked the bathroom door, stepping outside where Magnus was already walking towards him.

“Heyah, Magnus.” Simon hoped that he sounded convincing enough. “What´s up?” Magnus led him into the nearest room and gently ushered Simon onto one of its couches, taking a seat on the opposite end.

“I have noticed that as of late I haven’t been the most attentive guardian to you,” Magnus began. “And I´m here to rectify that.”

“It´s fine, really,” Simon replied. “You´re the High Warlock of Brooklyn, you´ve got stuff to do, people to see. I understand.”

“Simon.” Magnus gaze was full of compassion and understanding. “I´ve taken you in and given you my protection. Your emotional well-being is as much of a concern to me as your physical comfort. I haven’t even bothered to ask you how it went with Raphael.”

“He hates me now,” Simon whispered. “He wants to have nothing to do with me anymore.”

“Oh, Simon.” Magnus laid his hand atop Simon´s, a simple gesture of support and comfort, but it was enough to make tears starting to run down Simon´s cheeks. And when the tears started he just couldn’t hold them back anymore. He could feel Magnus wrapping his arms around him and Simon allowed himself to just sink into the other´s embrace and shut out the world around him.

“I don’t think he really hates you,” Magnus continued speaking as he ran his hand up and down Simon´s back in a soothing gesture. “I think he´s confused and scared and sees lashing out as only option to protect himself.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Simon mumbled into the expensive fabric of Magnus’ shirt.

“I never said that,” Magnus agreed. “Do you know what I think you need right now?”

“No?” Simon snivelled.

“You need a distraction,” Magnus proclaimed. “And I have the right one: Have you ever been to Undertow?”

Simon´s eyes widened in awe: Magnus (the future one) had told him of the once great city of the Downworlders that in a display of magic never witnessed before had been built in a small pocket dimension that made it separate from space and time of Earth. In what was probably one of his vilest deeds, Valentine had destroyed it during his first campaign of terror; had caused its collapse onto itself with all the people within, making it the greatest massacre against Downworlders ever committed. When Magnus had spoken of it, it had always been with grief and hurt in his voice and a wistfulness in his gaze, yearning for something that was no longer there.

“No, I haven’t,” Simon answered. He didn’t admit that in his time there had been nothing he could visit. He didn’t think that this Magnus would take very well to it.

“What an oversight of future me!” Magnus exclaimed. “Undertow is the pride and joy of every Downworlder! It´s the only place where the Clave cannot reach, for they don’t even know that it exists.”

_Valentine had found out_ , Simon thought. Now suddenly filled with energy, Magnus sprung up and waved his hand around. “No time to waste!” He took Simon by the hand and before the other boy knew he was already pulled towards the door.

* * *

“The entrance to the pride of the Downworlders is in a back alley?” Simon asked with doubtful expression as he stared into the street. Graffiti decorated the walls of the buildings around them while overflowing garbage bins littered the way.

“I admit that it isn’t the nicest ambience,” Magus conceded as he tip-toed around something that must have been a pizza once upon a time and was probably developing its own culture by now. “Every entrance to Undertow is hidden in undesirable locations, owed to the fact that most Shadowhunters are little princesses who don’t want to get their precious leather gear dirty.” In front of his inner eyes Simon could see the blonde Shadowhunter (‘Jace,’ his mind supplied) and had to agree with Magnus’ point. “I know of one entrance in sewers of Jakarta.” Magnus shuddered in disgust. “I´ve never felt more tainted.” He stopped. “Ah, here it is.”

Magnus closed his eyes in concentration, held up his hand and mumbled something. Slowly, the graffiti in front of them began to glow and then it started to move. Like snakes wiggling through grass, the colours moved all over the wall and formed new patterns, which Simon was slowly able to recognise as doorway.

“Awesome,” he mumbled. Magnus snapped with his fingers, which made a sphere of light spring into existence. The light flew forward and illuminated the black walls of the corridor that would lead them to Undertow.

“Stay close to me,” Magnus advised. “This trip isn’t without danger.”

“Stay close to the only source of light in the creepy corridor; got it,” Simon replied which only earned him an exasperated sigh from Magnus.

“You won´t be so cheeky once the Guardians try to eat you,” Magnus mumbled. Simon´s jaw dropped, but before he could say anything, Magnus had already stepped forward and was walking away from him.

“What do you mean?” Simon exclaimed. No answer. “Magnus?!” He ran after the Warlock who was shaking with supressed laughter when Simon reached him.

“Asshole,” Simon muttered under his breath. They followed the corridor in silence. Something about the atmosphere that penetrated the air around them demanded respect by not disturbing it with inane chatter, so even Simon managed to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t know how long they were walking, because there was nothing to measure time with. Magnus’ golden sphere was the only source of illumination, its light only stretching a few meters in front of them before the darkness swallowed it again.

Until the walls finally gave away and allowed them to enter a new part of the corridor network.

They were in a gigantic cave. The corridor from which they had come was nothing but a tiny hole in a wall of black rock that stretched so high that Simon could see neither the ceiling nor the ground.

“You´re looking in the wrong direction,” Magnus commented. Simon turned around: The first thing he noticed was that they stood on a ledge, before the second sight he was met with filled him with wonder and awe. A city stretched out in front of him. It looked like the skyline of modern day New York only that the buildings were all looking like they were made of alabaster. They glowed from within and repelled the darkness that was otherwise predominant within the gigantic cave they were in. Simon could see a building that loomed over everything else, an enormous tower and on its top a pulsating ball of golden light was floating from which a gigantic sphere – encompassing the whole city – sprung forth. Every window was lit and helped to illuminate the whole city.

Simon looked at Magnus and could see the same awe and wonder mirrored in his eyes.

“Welcome to Undertow.”

* * *

Brittany looked out of the window of the car at the house that was her destination. It didn’t look like she had imagined: Well-kept, neat and obviously cared for. Of course, there were signs that this wasn’t a very affluent part of town and that the owner of said house didn’t have much money: The street and sidewalk were pervaded by deep cracks, on some spots the colour of the houses around them flaked off and some pickets of the fences around each house were missing.

“Are you sure this is the right address, Ms Charlington?” James, her family´s chauffeur, asked her with a doubtful expression as he watched her through the driving mirror.

“Yes,” Brittan answered. She had gotten the address from the school´s office; she was friendly with all of the ladies there and it had only taken a few well-placed compliments for them to give it to her. And yet, Brittany couldn’t quite bring herself to exit the car and walk the few meters towards the door. She was glued to her seat and somehow each of her appendages felt like it suddenly weighted a ton.

It wasn’t really her business. It shouldn’t be, anyway. But over the course of the last few days it had become so and now she couldn’t shake it off in good conscience. Besides, standing her any longer would only garner even more suspicion. She had already noticed several curtains being moved behind the windows around her as the inhabitants observed the car that definitely didn’t belong here standing in the street.

“Well, there´s no time like the present,” Brittany mumbled. Turning towards James she told him to wait for her, then she opened the door and exited the car. Taking one deep breath, Brittany walked forward until she stood in front of the door where she knocked with trepidation in every gesture.

She could hear a female voice from inside, shouting at someone named Martín and David to take their toys out of the living room and then the door was opened by who Brittany assumed was the owner of said voice. The woman looked exhausted, her brown locks looking a little bit dishevelled, her brown yes framed by dark circles and her mouth set into a straight line.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Ms Santiago?” Brittany inquired. The woman nodded. “I´m Brittany Charlington and I´m looking for Raphael. Is he here?” Ms Santiago´s eyes narrowed in suspicion as she heard Brittany´s name.

“Has he done something?” she asked.

“Oh no,” Brittany replied, putting on a small smile for good measure. “I´m here because of a friend…” Ms Santiago looked at Brittany with barely concealed scepticism. It certainly didn’t look like she was believing that Brittany and Raphael had anything in common, lest of all friends. “…Simon Lewis?!” At the mention of Simon´s name, Ms Santiago´s stance lost its original hostility and even a small smile now spread over the woman´s face.

“Simon?” she exclaimed. “Such a nice boy! He hasn’t been here for a while.” Her eyes widened. “Has something happened between those two?” Before Brittany could answer, Ms Santiago was already continuing talking. “Ah, how could I forget my manners? Please, come in?” She stepped aside and let Brittany enter the house.

The first thing Brittany noticed was how small and cluttered everything was. Not in a messy kind, rather that every available space was used somehow. Through the hallway, Brittany could gaze into the living room and the kitchen, both barely bigger than the entrance hall of her own home. It was obviously well-cared for, little knickknacks and pictures littering the cabinets, but it couldn’t completely hide the fact it was old and of inferior quality to what Brittany was used to.

“I don’t know what happened,” Brittany admitted as Ms Santiago led her into the little kitchen. “I just know that Simon´s been miserable the last few days. Raphael and I…we don’t know each other very well –“ an understatement, but Brittany didn’t really count on telling Ms Santiago of the antagonistic nature of their relationship increasing her chances at getting to talk to Raphael “– but I thought that maybe if I talked to him I could come up with a solution?” To be honest, Brittany´s main reason for involving herself so much was that she still felt like she was owing Simon for the whole mess with the fortune teller she had gotten him into. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so guilty anymore if she helped him to patch up his friendship with Raphael. She could tell from her observation that it meant much to Simon and maybe she could ease her guilty conscience a little bit. And if running a little interference for Simon was the price to pay, then she would do it.

Don´t get her wrong, Simon was a kind of friend to her now, but she wouldn’t have gone so far out of her comfort zone for him so fast if the other stuff hadn’t happened before. But here she was, ready to salvage a broken friendship all on her own.

“My Raph hasn’t been the same for a few days as well,” Ms Santiago admitted with a deep sigh. “He barely comes out of his room and when he does he looks like someone murdered a puppy in front of his eyes.” She rubbed her temple. “I fear I haven’t been very attentive as of late. With his brothers starting school and working all day to make ends meet…” Brittany didn’t reply anything, because there was nothing she could say. She was so far removed from the Santiago´s family troubles as you could be while still living in the same city, so they just sat there while an awkward silence settled over them.

“Look at me,” Ms Santiago exclaimed. “Heaping all of my troubles on you, poor child, as if there´s anything you could do.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course,” Brittany nodded. “There´s nothing to forgive.”

“Well, I kept you long enough, don’t you think?” Ms Santiago continued. “Raphael´s room´s on the first floor, first door on the left. I hope you don’t mind going up alone, but the boys made a real mess out of the living room and I need that cleaned up before Anna comes over.”

“It´s fine, really,” Brittany assured the nervous woman. Then she stood up and walked back through the hallway up the stairs until she stood in front of a non-descript brown door. Nothing about it indicated anything about the person that dwelled behind, unlike Chad and his friends who had their doors plastered with posters of Marylin Monroe and James Dean.

Again, Brittany hesitated before she raised her hand and knocked on the door. No answer came, so she knocked a second time.

“Not now!” She heard a muffled voice shouting from the inside. Brittany knocked again.

“What?” Raphael shouted. Carefully, Brittany opened the door. Raphael´s room wasn’t really big and spartanly furnished as well: a bed, a desk and a few book shelves, nothing more. The boy himself was lying on the bed, wearing a long-sleeved shirt even though it was summer. When he heard the door open, Raphael sat up and his eyes widened when he saw Brittany of all people entering the room.

Slowly, Brittany closed the door behind her, the only sound penetrating the silence around them the door locking in place. Raphael didn’t say anything, probably still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Brittany of all people was standing in his room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he finally spat out rather surly, which, to be honest, Brittany couldn’t really fault him for. She had never gone out of her way to humiliate or bully Raphael, but she hadn’t kept her opinion about him a big secret either.  

“I´m here because of what happened between Simon and you,” she told him. Raphael´s eyes widened in surprise and – fear? Brittany didn’t really get what exactly was so terrible about her knowing about their fight – before his expression became stony again.

“I don’t know what you´re talking about,” he replied.

“Oh, come on!” Brittany exclaimed annoyed. “You haven’t been to school for two days and when you came in today you had one heated exchange with Simon who then continued to spend the whole day looking like a kicked puppy.” At the mention of Simon something changed in Raphael´s expression, but it was gone before Brittany could identify it. “Something must have happened between you two.”

“Why do you even care?” Raphael snapped at her.

“Because…ugh!” Brittany threw her hands in the air. “Because, Simon is miserable and I owe him.”

“So, you´re here for yourself,” Raphael remarked. “Then you can go now. Tell yourself you´ve tried everything and that I didn’t want your help. Maybe it´ll ease your conscience.” He smiled sardonically.

“I´m here for Simon!” Brittany hissed back. “He hated me and yet he saved my life when the vam- the home invader tried to kill me. Maybe I don’t know him as long or as well as you do, and I really wanted to come here for him and try to help resolve whatever is going on between you two, but if you rather squander your friendship with him in some pathetic pity party, then be my guest.” Faster than she thought possible, Raphael had jumped up and was suddenly standing in front of her, his face only a few inches away as his eyes blazed with uncontrolled fury.

“I squandered nothing!” he screamed at her. Then there was his arm on hers and suddenly Brittany wasn’t so sure if coming here had been her best idea.

“Raphael,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “Let me go.” His grip didn’t loosen.

“I said, let me go!” Brittany shouted. With her free hand, she griped Raphael´s arm with which he was holding her and tore it away from her. Raphael hadn’t expected such action, for he stumbled backwards in the face of Brittany´s aggression. Inwardly berating herself for even coming her, Brittany wanted to turn around and leave, when her gaze fell on Raphael´s right arm where the sleeve of his shirt had slid up, revealing the skin underneath. 

What she saw shocked her to the core.

“Raphael? What´s this?” Brittany asked aghast, knowing the answer, but not willing to admit it to herself yet. “Are you…are you cutting yourself?”

It seems as if all of a sudden every bit of fight left Raphael: The tension in his body abated and he sagged down on the ground, leaning against the bedframe and closed his eyes as if he could just blend out reality if he just ignored it long enough.

Brittany just stood there, not really knowing what she was supposed to do now. She had come here expecting to hear about a childish fight between boys about girls or whatever boys fought about, not to discover some deep psychological crisis which she had now to confront. For a short moment – a split second really, nearly non-existent – Brittany thought about just turning around, leaving the room and the house, entering the car and driving away without a single glance back. Coming here had been a mistake and she wanted nothing more than to undo it. But then she thought about Ms Santiago who was cleaning up downstairs, hoping that the girl that didn’t belong here would fix her son, asking Brittany if everything was alright now and Brittany knew deep, deep down that she would never be able to look at herself in the mirror if she lied to the poor woman. So, with shaking hands, Brittany carefully lowered herself down right next to Raphael, who didn’t even bother to look at her.

“Whatever you and Simon fought about,” Brittany began, pausing and trying to find the right words. “Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been so bad for you to resort to hurting yourself. You were friends. Best friends.” Raphael didn’t say anything.

“Was it about a girl?” Brittany asked carefully. “Did you fight over someone? I know, I´m probably the last person you want any romantic advice from, but no girl is worth hurting yourself for. Really, no one is.” Raphael was shaking by now and at first Brittany thought that he was crying because she had hit spot on, but then she noticed that he was shaking with laughter instead. No happy laughter, no: It was an empty, broken sound, bordering on hysterical.

“You really think we fought about a girl?” Raphael gasped as his laughter receded.

“Didn’t you?” Brittany replied, but Raphael had gone back to not answering any of her comments. There was silence before Brittany spoke up again.

“I have an uncle,” she began, “Uncle Brian. He´s my father´s brother and when I was little he was my favourite relative. He always told the best stories and had the best gifts for me on my birthday. He came by every time he was in the area and I looked forward to every of his visits. Until one day he stopped coming and no one ever told me why. One years ago, I hired a private investigator to find my uncle. He lives in California now, together with his lover, a soldier he treated after the war. I have pictures of them, they look very happy together. I think my parents told him to never visit us again when they found out. I´m still unsure if I should visit him one day, but he´s still family and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?” Without waiting for a reaction, Brittany stood up and made her way towards the door. She griped the door knob but before she opened the door, she turned her head, looked at Raphael – still sitting at the feet of his bed, staring at his knees, too afraid to look at her – and said one last thing: “From what I´ve seen of your mother, she doesn’t strike me as the type to do the same thing to you as my parents did to Uncle Brian.” And with that statement she left Raphael. Closing the door behind her, she let out a shaky breath before she turned towards the stairs. Brittany nearly squeaked in fright when she saw Ms Santiago standing there, tears running down her face as she looked at Brittany.

“You´re right,” the woman whispered. “I wouldn’t.” Suddenly, Brittany couldn’t stand it anymore: The narrowness of the house, Ms Santiago´s tear stricken face, Raphael´s broken laughter. She bolted downstairs, through the hallway, out of the door, tore the car´s door open and shouted at James to just drive.

She shouldn’t have come here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I wanted Simon´s visit to Undertow in this chapter as well, but then this chapter would have taken even longer and would have had a word count of 8k or more, so I decided to write a chapter completely dedicated to it. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love <3


	14. Arc I: Inversus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael has an emotional and the present!gang a crossover moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why writing on a prompt with deadline when you can churn out another chapter for this instead? This time the chapter is a little bit shorter than usual, but I hope you like it nevertheless.

**1953**

* * *

Silence hung heavy between Raphael and his mother.

 _Look what you did,_ a voice whispered in his head. _Look how you made your mother feel!_ Tears were running down her cheeks, her lips were quivering and the look in her eyes was one of utter hurt, so deep that it made Raphael feel like his heart was breaking in thousand shards; never to be put together again. Then there was this shame and disgust coiling in his stomach, bile rising in his throat, as he thought about that everything was out in the open now, his most shameful secret and Raphael steeled himself for what was about to come: The hurtful words, the disgust, the shame and the discomposure.

He deserved nothing less.

“Oh, my boy,” his mother whispered. Raphael couldn’t even look his own mother in the eyes, too afraid of what he would see staring back at him now that she was speaking. “When did I fail you so?” Confusion spread through his mind and befuddled, Raphael looked up.

“Mom?” he spoke tentatively. What was she speaking about? He had failed her. He had failed his family, his community and his God and yet his mom was thinking that she had done something wrong. She had done nothing! He was wrong and his mother shouldn’t have to suffer for it. He wanted to tell her that, but no words made it past his lips.

“Did I love you not enough?” his mother continued. “Weren´t my words enough?”

“You did nothing wrong,” Raphael finally managed to croak out. “I did. I´m wrong.” Something fierce flashed through his mother´s eyes and then she was standing in front of him, both of her hands gripping his shoulders tightly.  

“Don´t you dare!” his mother hissed. “Don´t you dare say something like that. No child of mine is wrong, do you understand me? None!”

“Mom?” Raphael spoke confused. Why wasn’t his mother shouting at him, cursing his very name for his wrongness? It was all wrong; Raphael had prepared himself for a different reaction, had built up walls all around him in order to lessen the pain that was sure to come when his mother found out one day, but now here she was doing nothing of the things he had expected her to do, tearing down his walls stone by stone.

“I love you, Raphael,” his mother said, “I love you and nothing – not who you are, not who you´re going to be nor who you decide to love – will change that. You´re my son and I´ll love you no matter what.”

“But…” Raphael started one half-hearted attempt, “the Bible…God.”

“He told us that love is the greatest force on Earth,” his mother spoke. “Love, forgiveness and mercy. The Holy Script was written by men and men are fallible; I chose to believe that He created and loved us just as we are.” Her face took a more serious expression, an unwavering resolve settling in her gaze. “And if He truly thinks that loving another man damns your soul into the deepest pits of Hell, then I´ll be the first one to follow you. Because Heaven is where my children are.”

It was those words that broke Raphael. As tears started to flow, he threw himself at his mother and embraced her like he hadn’t done for years. His mother was rubbing his back soothingly and muttered something in Spanish, but Raphael couldn’t really understand it over the loud beating of his heart. His mother felt so warm – so real, so firm – under his hand and he didn’t want to let go, never again. In the embrace of his mother he could forget the world around him, bury his head, and just keep forgetting what awaited him outside.

“I love you, Raphael,” his mother whispered against his ear.

And in this moment, everything was alright again.

* * *

  **Present**

* * *

“So, what are we going to do now?” Isabelle asked. They were all gathered in Magnus’ living room, the Warlock lounging on one of the couches, Isabelle and Clary on the other while Jace leaned against the wall and Alexander walked back and forth, an atmosphere of impatience hanging over him like a cloud.

“I don´t think our objective has changed,” Magnus remarked. “Valentine still needs to be found and stopped.” He looked at Clary. “I doubt that your memory would have helped very much in that regard.”

“Thanks,” Clary muttered. Magnus just shrugged. It was true, though, memories of the fairy at Clary´s sixth birthday wouldn’t have helped them find Valentine. There was nothing about Valentine in the redhead´s memories.

“I hate this,” Jace muttered. “Just sitting around here, waiting that he does something.” Magnus could understand that sentiment. He wasn’t one to just sit down and wait for the other shoe to drop, either. Valentine was a dangerous man and every second that they didn’t know what he was up to was another one in which he could push his dastardly plans at world domination forward.

“Jace´s right,” Alexander pointed out. “And while we can´t do anything about Valentine at the moment, we still have our other duties to attend to. We can´t slack off now.”

“So, back to the Institute?” Isabelle asked. Alec nodded in response.

“Great!” Magnus exclaimed and sprung up from where he was sitting. “I can portal you.”

“No!” all three Shadowhunters shouted at once, looking queasy just at the thought of it. Magnus just rolled his eyes; why were Shadowhunters always so suspicious about portalling? It was way faster than walking or driving.

“It´s not that far,” Alexander said, “besides, we need to patrol anyway.”

“I´ll accompany you,” Magnus told him. “I don’t have anything better to do anyway.” He smiled at the Shadowhunter. “Besides, I´d feel terrible if something happened to you on your way.”

“We´re not defenceless,” Jace muttered under his breath, wincing in pain when Isabelle rammed her elbow in his side. Magnus winked at her; she shot him a predatory grin. When he looked back at Clary, he noticed her frown in confusion, her gaze flickering between all of them, but when she noticed him noticing, the expression vanished.

“Let´s don’t waste any time,” Jace spoke. Everyone rolled their eyes at him, but they began moving anyway.

As they walked the streets, Magnus had to admit that walking had its own charms. Using portals may be faster, but it also denied you the opportunity to take in your surroundings. The people mingling on the street, the flashing adverts, the lights and the humming of the city. Much to the chagrin of Alexander, Magnus delayed them by buying a hotdog from one of the street vendors.

“We don´t have time for this,” the Shadowhunter muttered as he tried to glare holes into Magnus.

“Then we should have used a portal,” Magnus replied snappishly. He turned back to the vendor. “Don’t skimp on the mustard.”

“Relax, Alec,” Isabelle placated her brother. “Besides, demon summoning is a taxing activity. I´ll take one with ketchup.” She bounced next to Magnus and extended a five Dollar bill. Alexander looked like a was about to burst a vein.

After that they continued to make their way towards the Institute; Magnus and Isabelle happily munching on their hotdogs.

“You know, I´m happy,” Magnus spoke to Alexander, licking the mustard residue from his fingers. The others were walking few meters behind them, Isabelle and Jace explaining one thing or another to Clary; Magnus didn’t really care.

“What for?” Alexander asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You,” Magnus replied. “I´m happy that your relationship with Jace hasn’t suffered. It seemed really important to you.”

“It is,” Alexander spoke silently. For a while, neither of them said anything.

“It´s difficult, though,” Alexander finally admitted. “Because it was easy before, you know? He was always unattainable and that made him safe. But now…”

“Everything´s possible again?” Magnus finished for him. Alexander just nodded.

“It may seem daunting to you now,” Magnus began, “but you´ll manage. I believe you will.” Shyly, Alexander smiled at him and it made something warm flutter in his stomach.

They reached the Institute where Raphael and Lucian were already waiting for them. The werewolf and vampire stood a few meters apart, their distaste for each other palpable in the air, but they hadn’t murdered each other, at least.

Someone behind him took in a sharp breath. Magnus turned his head and saw Clary staring at Raphael with utter repugnance in her gaze, her lips turned downwards. She looked at Isabelle, Alexander and Jace who didn’t react to the presence of the Downworlders at all, then the expression vanished from her face again, replaced by her usual veneer. 

“Raphael,” Magnus greeted his friend, “and Lucian. So glad you could make it.”

“I have new information,” Raphael spoke silently.

“Let´s get inside first,” Alexander spoke firmly. “War strategy is not something we should discuss on the street.” A wave of his Steele and a ripple went through the wards, opening the Institute for them. Raphael, Lucian and Magnus garnered some curious stares (and a few hostiles ones, too) from the other Shadowhunters, but none of them cared as they were quite used to it.

Alexander ushered them into an empty conference room and closed the door behind him. Magnus looked around and saw four Shadowhunters, a werewolf, a vampire and a warlock _(it also should be one mundane)_ standing around the table and he thought, that, maybe, this interspecies cooperation to stop Valentine might even work.

“What´s the information you have for us?” Isabelle asked.

“I´ve made contact with an ally,” Raphael replied evenly. “One with extensive contacts all over the world, who´ll help us find Valentine and his followers.”

“Who´s this ‘ally’?” Jace wanted to know. Raphael tilted his head and looked straight at Magnus.

“Brittany Charlington.” At the mention of that particular name Magnus’ brows nearly vanished in his hairline.

“Who´s that?” Isabelle asked.

“A mundane with an extensive network of informants in both worlds,” Magnus replied. “So, the ripples have reached this far already.” Raphael just nodded, neither of them explaining further. Their history with Brittany was something personal that didn’t concern the Shadowhunters, at least not now, when neither she nor Simon were present.

“At least something,” Alexander muttered. “The sooner we knew where Valentine´s holed up, the sooner we can plan. Until then there isn’t much we can do.”

“I´ll keep my ears open for information,” Magnus spoke.

“I´ll do the same,” Raphael added. Lucian nodded, having nothing to add.

“Why don´t we contact Meliorn?” Clary spoke up for the first time. “Surely the Seelie know something.”

“That´s a good suggestion,” Magnus told Clary who smiled at him. “We definitely should contact Meliorn and ask him for help. The Seelie don´t hold any fondness for Valentine and his ilk.” Then his gaze turned serious. “The only problem, though, is that you couldn’t possibly know that name; not after only a few days in the know about the Shadow World. At least our Clary wouldn’t, which begs the question: Who are you and what have you done with her?”

* * *

Clary´s day didn’t really go as she had expected when she woke up.

Not that she had any expectations to begin with, anyway. Suddenly being part of a magical world that was hidden underneath what she had known for her whole life did that to you. Ever since that night at Pandemonium, the punches just kept on coming and she tried to roll with it as best as she could, all the while juggling a megalomaniac father, a former-human-now-turned-vampire best friend who equally hated and feared the world that had first sucked in Clary and then him and a broody blonde Shadowhunter who just wouldn’t leave her mind.

So, when Meliorn had come to them and offered them a way to get to Valentine´s secret lair via parallel universe that the Seelies apparently could access, she didn’t even bat an eyelash. Of all the weird things on her list, this didn’t even make it in the top five. Sixth maybe, or seventh. There wasn’t really much of a choice, really, so Clary had agreed.

Jace hadn’t. But she couldn’t consider his misplaced sense of responsibility when it came to their overarching aim. She didn’t need her hand to be hold all the time, didn’t need a protector to shield her from all the evil of the world. She had been naïve and stupid once and that had cost Clary her mother and she wouldn’t allow something like that to ever happen again. Jace may have only good intentions, but smothering her and treating her like she was a frail porcelain doll only kept them from finding her mother and preventing them from effectively fighting Valentine.

Thus, she had gone through the portal alone, Meliorn´s warning still echoing through her mind _(‘Your alternate self could consume you if you let it. Focus on the differences between that world and ours. Find something or someone to keep you grounded to this one. It will be more difficult than you think. If you don't hurry, you could cease to be this world's Clary Fairchild. And be stuck in that world forever.’)_.

At first this world hadn’t seemed that different from where she had come from. All the people from her own world where here as well, apparently the same as she knew them. Even the order of events seemed to be the same as in her own world: They were making their way back from Magnus’ loft after having summoned the demon that had possessed her memories, which had also happened in her world. But then, slowly but surely, the discrepancies started to creep up on her.

The first thing she noticed that Magnus seemed to be less standoff-ish than his counterpart in her universe. He had always kept them at distance at first, only slowly thawing to them the better he got to know them (especially Alec), probably because he hadn’t really known them when they had summoned the demon as they had only found him shortly before.

This Magnus seemed much more at ease with the Shadowhunters, speaking softly to Alec and discussing things with Izzy. There were even some snarky remarks towards Jace, which hadn’t happened in her universe until much later. There was no ‘High Warlock of Brooklyn’ persona in place here, just Magnus whom she had just gotten to know in her own world.

But Magnus wasn’t the only one who seemed the same on the first gaze, but turned out differently the longer you looked: There was also Alec, who was still no fun and always scolding, but it seemed more light-hearted here, without the constant background noise of the demon´s revelation about his feelings for Jace. Even now, after all the fights they had went through together, there was still an underlying tension between Jace and Alec when they two were together, a small crack in their bond, but here there was nothing. On the contrary, while there was some kind of melancholy and wistfulness in Alec´s gaze when he looked at his parabatai, there was also relief and certainty that Clary had never seen in the Alec of her own world.

She wondered where all those tiny disparities came from.

And then, out of all people, it was Raphael who waited for them at the Institute. Clary nearly protested out loud when he joined them; she, after all, hadn’t forgotten what he and his kind had done to Simon. Poor Simon, whom she had to bury, her best friend. But no one – not Jace, not Izzy, even Alec – had said anything against the vampire joining them and with cold dread Clary realised what the great difference between her own universe and this one was.

_Simon._

Clary had taken in a sharp breath when she realised that not once had Simon been mentioned by anyone. What if he they weren’t friends in this world? Or even worse, what if Simon didn’t even exist? It would explain why no one protested against Raphael´s presence or why no one seemed to know that the Mortal Cup was hidden in the tarot cards her mother had painted for Dot. If there was no Simon, then he would have never been killed by the vampires; an event which set into motion the series of events that would lead to that discovery.

All that flashed before Clary´s eyes when Magnus voiced his suspicions. At once, every gaze in the room was directed at her, the Shadowhunter´s hands suddenly at their Soul Swords. It hurt; this suspicion, but Clary could understand it.

“What are you talking about, Magnus?” Clary asked, trying to sound innocent. “Of course, I´m Clary, who else would I be?” She let out a forced laugh. The tension in the room only rose.

“We had eyes on her all the time,” Jace pointed out. “There´s no chance that she´s been replaced by a demon.”

“There are things more insidious than demons,” Magnus murmured.

“Are you sure?” Luke asked. He looked queasy, his gaze flickering between Clary and Magnus.

“You don´t have to believe me,” Magnus replied. “Tell me, Clary, where is Simon?”

 _Damn,_ Clary cursed inwardly. The only good thing about the whole situation was that she at least knew that Simon still existed and that he was apparently still her friend.

“He´s coming up with something better than Rock Solid Panda for his band?” she guessed. Next to Magnus Raphael snorted, but a stern look from Magnus made him sober up quickly.

“Last chance to tell us,” he told Clary. “Or I´ll use other methods of persuasion.” His hands began to glow blue and for the first time since she had come here, Clary experienced genuine fear. She opened her mouth to reply something, but suddenly Jace was standing in front of her, sword drawn and pointing it towards Magnus.

“Don´t touch her!” he hissed.

“What the fuck, Jace?!” Izzy exclaimed.

“What´s going on?” Alec shouted confused. Luke´s eyes were glowing green and Raphael was baring his fangs at them. The whole room was boiling with tension, ready to explode.

“Stop!” Clary spoke, but no one was listening to her.

 _“STOP!”_ she shouted and that seemed to do it; everyone was looking at her now. “I´m gonna tell you what´s going on, but please, put away your weapons.” At first no one reacted, but then glow around Magnus’ hands vanished and the others soon followed suit.

“Speak,” Magnus commanded.

“So, this may sound unbelievable and crazy, but I´m Clary from another dimension.” It sounded more like a question than a statement. “We´re looking for Valentine´s lair and the only way to get to it, is through a portal in this dimension which Meliorn helped me reach.” She looked at Jace. “And apparently Jace followed me as well.”

“Is that possible?” Izzy asked, turning towards Magnus who regarded Clary intensely.

“I´ve heard of it,” Magnus answered. “The Seelies take their roles as guardians of the pathways between worlds very seriously, though.”

“I don´t care about some pathways,” Alec interrupted brusquely. “Where´s our Jace?” Some things didn´t seem to change, no matter which universe: Alec´s dislike for Clary apparently one of them.

“He´s dormant,” Magnus answered before Clary could reply. “Both of them are, until they either leave or are consumed by their counterparts.”

 “You must help us!” Clary pleaded. “We need to get to that portal in order to take care of our Valentine. We´ll leave and you get back your Clary and Jace.” She rummaged through her pocket. “I´ve got the portal stone right here, but I don´t really know how to activate it.” She looked at Magnus. “Please?”

“A demon attacked us and followed Clary through the portal,” Jace added. “That´s why I´m here.” Magnus closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. Clary had the feeling that he didn’t like them very much.

“I can tell you where the Mortal Cup is,” she added. You could have heard a pin land on the ground in the silence that ensued after that statement. The gaze of everyone was directed at her and Clary felt like hiding under the table from their intensity.

“You know where the Cup is?” Alex asked. Clary nodded, then turned towards Magnus: “Will you help us?” The Warlock looked back, his expression undecipherable.

“I will,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are love <3


	15. Arc I: Aurum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary and Jace are send off to fight their own Valentine while Simon enjoys the wonder of Undertow and has to make a difficult decision. Also, there´s awesome food.

**Present**

* * *

It was eerie how much this Institute was like the one of her own dimension, Clary thought as she followed Izzy through the well-known hallways. Even that one Shadowhunter with the glasses, who Clary was pretty sure had a crush on Izzy was there, standing in the corner, bent over her tablet, blushing heavily when she saw Izzy. Even Ray was the same!

They (which meant Alec and Magnus) had decided that there wasn’t much use in continuing the meeting after Clary and Jace had disrupted it. They would continue tomorrow and until then Jace and her were given two guestrooms.

“I don’t have to explain the rules, do I?” Izzy asked them after she had led them into one of the guestrooms. “They should be pretty much the same in every universe.” There was a distance between them that Clary wasn’t used to. Even though she didn’t know her Izzy that long, friendship had come fast and easy to them, making their interactions easy, but with this Izzy Clary didn’t know how to tread.

“Can I ask you a question?” Clary asked hesitantly. For a moment, it looked like Izzy would deny her request, but then she just wordlessly closed the door and turned back around again.

“What do you want to know?”

“What happened to the Simon of this universe?” Clary inquired. From the small snippets and hint she had gotten from before Magnus had discovered that she wasn’t _their_ Clary, she had deduced that something big had happened to Simon and even though she knew that rationally he wasn’t the best friend she had grown up with, it still was – well – _Simon_ and she would always care for him, no matter which universe.

“There was a little mishap with a magical artefact,” Izzy explained. “Simon is currently vacationing in 1953 until he manages to get back to the present again.”

“Figures that your Mundane would create messes no matter the universe,” Jace snorted.

“I wouldn’t say that in front of Magnus or Raphael,” Izzy cut him off, anger blazing in her eyes. “Or Luke, for the matter. Simon´s friend with all of them, while you – well you´re definitely not.”

“Simon´s friend with Magnus and Raphael?” Clary repeated in disbelief.

“Honestly, I´ve known our Simon for barely a few hours before he was sucked into the past, but I´m already pitying yours if that´s the level of condescension he has to deal with all the time,” Izzy sneered. Clary opened her mouth to protest, but Izzy just continued talking. “Why do you find it so unbelievable that Simon´s made friend that aren’t you? He´s known Magnus and Raphael for years already; at least that´s what they told us.”

“But he´s just…” _Simon, her dorky, Star Wars loving friend who read trashy vampire novels in his free time and had once written a song about the periodic table to memorise it,_ Clary wanted to say. Obviously, Izzy took her silence the wrong way.

“A mundane?” she finished Clary´s sentence. “If our universes are that much alike then you´ve been in the know of the Shadow World not for that long, so I would stop acting like you have it all figured out.” That was the moment Clary had enough.

“Why are you so hostile?” she exclaimed exasperated.

“I don’t know you,” Izzy fired back. “Which I could forgive, because I don’t know this universe Clary for that long, either, but you –“ she pointed at Jace “– took over my brother´s body and practically turned him into a stranger. You may wear familiar faces, but I don’t know you and until I do, I´ll keep an eye on you.” She walked towards the door and turned around one last time: “If you need something, call me.” Then, closing the door behind her, she vanished, leaving Jace and Clary alone in the room.

“Why did you follow me?” Clary wanted to know.

“Like I already told,” Jace answered, “a demon came after you.”

“And you don’t think I could have taken care of it on my own?” Clary asked. “I know I´m new to this whole demon hunting thing, but I´d like to think that I´m capable of sticking monsters with the pointy end of my blade.”

“It´s not….” Jace started, his expression one of uneasiness and exasperation. “It´s…you know, forget it. Sorry for trying to save you.”

“Hey.” Clary laid her hand atop of his. “For what it´s worth, I´m glad that you´re here.” She smiled at him and after a moment Jace smiled back.

“It´s weird,” Clary continued. “To be here when everything´s practically the same and yet everyone´s a stranger to us.” She paused. “It must be even harder for you.”

“It´s not that bad,” Jace shrugged. “I know everyone well enough to recognise the difference between them and their counterparts. Alec´s left-handed here. Izzy´s lipstick is a different shade of red. It makes it easier to differentiate. I bet if you knew them better you´d notice, too.”

“I´m not that observant,” Clary replied.

“You could be,” Jace remarked and somehow his belief in her potential did make her feel better. “Tomorrow we´ll finally find Valentine´s hide-out and then all of this will be over.”

* * *

The next morning, they found themselves again in the meeting room where they had been the day before. Raphael wasn’t there (for which Clary was thankful) as was Luke (which Clary was sorry about), but Magnus was as were Alec and Izzy.

“I can discern the location of the portal with your necklace,” Magnus told Clary. “It´ll lead to wherever the Valentine of your world is hiding. I´ll send you through, in return you´ll tell us where we can find the Mortal Cup.” Clary nodded and handed the necklace over to the Warlock. She noticed how close Alec stood to the other man and wondered if they were already together. The Alec and Magnus of her world were still dancing around each other.

Maybe she could do something about it once she got back.

“So, where´s the Cup?” Alec asked impatiently.

“As it was pointed out to me yesterday, you´re all strangers to me, so I´ll tell you once we´re at the portal,” Clary replied. She spoke to Alec, but her gaze lingered on Izzy. Alec wanted to open his mouth and protest, but Izzy took his arm and held him back: “She´s right, Alec. We can wait.” Alec didn’t look very satisfied with that, but he held his tongue and just glowered darkly at Clary. Some things never changed.

“I have it!” Magnus exclaimed. “It´s in an abandoned warehouse in Ozone Park.”

“Ugh, that´s nearly an hour ride with the subway,” Clary complained.

“We could always portal if a certain someone would give up his resistance to it,” Magnus pointed out.

“Alright,” Alec grinded out. “But if I lose a limp or get turned inside out, it´s all your fault.”

“This isn´t Harry Potter, Alexander!” Magnus exclaimed. From the confused expression on Alec´s face, Clary concluded that the Shadowhunter´s lack of pop culture education transcended universes. “Do you know how much more likely it is for you to get maimed or killed in a car accident than it is with using portals?”

“You can give him all the figures later,” Jace interrupted. “We shouldn’t stand around here any longer, when we could do something instead.” Magnus rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, with one flourish of his hand, a portal opened up in the room.

“How are you even able to open a portal in the Institute?” Jace wanted to know. “The wards should prevent that.”

“I keyed him in yesterday,” Alec replied, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “You never know when you may need it.” And then, after taking a deep breath, he stepped through it.

“After you,” Izzy commented and beckoned for Clary and Jace to step through the portal. They exited into an abandoned side street which in turn led to a busy main street typical for a New Yorker neighbourhood, totally unremarkable with its small shops, a few fast food chains and other associated businesses.

“That´s definitely no abandoned warehouse,” Jace pointed out.

“I can only portal to locations that I already know,” Magnus explained. “This is the closest I could get us to.”

“I´ve never been to Ozone Park,” Clary remarked. “At least not this part.”

“We´re on Rockaway Boulevard,” Magnus said. “The subway station is over there.”

“So, how do we get to the other portal?” Izzy asked.

“I can trace it,” Magnus replied. “Just follow me.” They did just that, walking after Magnus through the street, following no discernible pattern as the Warlock followed some spell that none of them could see or feel. By the time Magnus paused to get himself a cheeseburger from some local Deli Clary´s feet hurt like hell. She sat on the curb and stretched them to alleviate the pain when Magnus and Izzy came back, the former eating his food with gusto while the latter clutched the newest edition of the People Magazine.

“You read that?” Clary asked with raised eyebrows.

“Of course,” Izzy answered. “We don´t have mundane TV in the Institute, so this is my only way of keeping up with the Kardashians.” Clary´s jaw dropped, but before she could continue talking, they were already walking again, Magnus promising that soon they would be at their destination. He could _feel_ it.

When the warehouse finally stood in front of them Clary could have wept. Three hours of more or less aimlessly walking around had tested her patience.

“It´s definitely here,” Magnus remarked. “I can feel its energy.” There was neither a fence nor was the door even locked, so they just walked into the empty building, the only things inside dust and a few wooden containers.

“That´s pretty anticlimactic,” Izzy commented. “The portal to another world and it´s…here?”

“Don´t say it, don´t even think it,” Alec snapped. “Whenever you say something like this, something happens which more often than not lands us in the infirmary.”

As if Fate had heard him, it was in this moment that a shadow descended upon them. Sitting on one of the supporting beams, the demon that must have followed Clary through the portal eyed them, its red eyes gleaming with unholy glee.

“You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you?” Alec sighed, deactivating the Rune that hid his bow and arrows under a veil of invisibility. Clary activated her own Soul Sword, as did Jace while Izzy pulled out her whip that whirred through the air with a cutting hiss. The demon hissed, as if it was looking forward to the confrontation and let itself fall to the ground.

“How did it even find us?” Alec wanted to know.

“Well, we did walk around for a few hours,” Izzy remarked. “Enough time for it to catch up with us.”

“Equal calls to equal,” Magnus explained. “Neither Clary nor Jace are from this world, so the demon would be easily able to follow their trail.”

The demon obviously had enough of them talking, as it bared its fangs, a dark substance dribbing from it and readied itself to pounce at them, when a swooshing sound could be heard and the demon exploded into thousand golden sparks. When they sank to the ground they revealed a man standing there, holding a cane which he was cleaning with a white kerchief. He looked to be around forty, short sandy-brown hair and beard, brown eyes and of a pudgy stature. Wearing a bespoken looking suit, he didn’t seem to be that intimidated by the group of Shadowhunters with drawn Seraph blades and the Warlock. Clary couldn’t help but feel uneasy as they waited for the man to make the first move.

“I really don´t like when the rabble of other worlds thinks they can just do whatever they want without my permission,” the man, finally finished with cleaning his cane finished. With a snip of his fingers, it vanished in black smoke and then he finally looked at them for the first time.

“Shadowhunters! What a delight,” he purred. “And the High Warlock of Brooklyn!”

“Crowley,” Magnus nodded.

“I´ve heard you got rid of Valak,” Crowley continued. “I have to thank you for that. He was becoming a thorn in my side.”

“Magnus, who´s that?” Alec finally uttered the question that was on all of their minds.

“Put away your blades,” Magnus told them. “They will be of no use here.” Hesitantly, all of them followed Magnus’ order, even though Clary kept her grip around the handle of her sword. “You stand in the presence of Crowley, King of the Crossroads.” Izzy and Alec drew in sharp breaths, while Clary and Jace just exchanged confused looks.

“Apparently that demon isn’t the only otherworldly being around here,” Crowley commented, eyeing up Jace and Clary. She felt tainted by his gaze. “I´m the demon in charge of all of the human souls that sell themselves to Hell. It also means that I take care of everything – or everyone – that crosses from other universes.”

“They´ll be gone soon,” Magnus replied.

“I hope so,” Crowley drawled. “Dimensional rifts cause nothing but chaos and chaos is bad for business. As token of my gratitude for vanquishing Valak, I´ll allow you to send them back to their world instead of dealing with them myself.” His gaze turned back to Clary and Jace. “You´ll better never come back.” Clarry nodded. She definitely never wanted to set foot in this dimension again after they were finished. On last look, then Crowley just vanished.

Magnus, Izzy and Alec let out deep breaths of relief.

“That was tight,” Izzy remarked. Alec nodded in agreement.

“What was that?” Jace exclaimed. “He´s a demon and you just let him go!”

“I don’t know what demons you have in your dimension but here there are some that you don´t deal with without having the Clave and a whole circle of Warlocks with you,” Alec told him.

“Yeah, like Crowley,” Izzy threw in. “Or Azazel. Lilith, even though she hasn’t been seen in the last four centuries. The Seven Deadly Sins.” She shuddered.

“Jace didn’t mean it like that,” Clary said, trying to cover up for his brusque comment. “Our demons are more…animalistic? They don’t talk much.”

“You´re lucky, then,” Izzy huffed.

“I´ve pinpointed the portal that´ll led you back to your world,” Magnus suddenly interrupted from the other side of the hall. Clary hadn’t even noticed him moving around. “It´s time you tell us where to find the Mortal Cup.” He looked at her expectantly.

“My mother´s tarot cards,” Clary told them. “She used runes to hide it in one of them. It´s the one with a cup on it, obviously.”

“Jocelyn´s been always resourceful,” Magnus said with a melancholic smile. “You held up your part of the bargain, so I´ll send you back.” He turned around and after a few flourished gestures a portal opened up.

“I hope you defeat your Valentine,” Izzy suddenly spoke up from behind.

“I hope you do, too,” Clary replied. Then she took Jace´s hand and stepped through the Portal.

Back with the Shadohunters Clary and Jace suddenly found themselves in some abandoned warehouse with Izzy, Alec and Magnus staring at them expectantly, while the last thing Clary remembered was sitting down on Magnus’ couch after having summoned the demon that had had her memories.

“Guys, what happened?” Clary wanted to know. “Why are we here?”

“That´s a long story,” Izzy replied, throwing he arm around Clary and steering her towards the exit of the warehouse. “And I´m gonna tell you everything on our way back to the Institute.”

* * *

**1953**

* * *

There was a staircase leading down to the city. At first the stairs were barely more than makeshift steps carved into the stone but the lower they descended the more elaborate it became, until it was at least four meters in width and framed by a marble balustrade, ornamentation that looked like ivy looping around it in a display of unmatched artistry. As of yet they hadn’t met a single person.

“Not many visitors use the stairways,” Magnus told him as if he had read Simon´s mind. “Most use the gondolas.” He pointed towards the edge of the city and now that they were nearly there Simon could recognise that the vast blackness that surrounded Undertow was a lake, its black water glistening underneath the light that came from the city. And upon the water hundreds of gondolas swam, steered by figures in golden cloaks and wearing golden masks with only two black holes for eyes. Without sound, they moved their vehicles through the water towards the city; an utterly eerie display.

“Who are they?” Simon asked.

“Constructs,” Magnus answered. “Called into being when this city was founded to bring its visitors back and forth in every hour.”

“So, there´s nothing underneath those creepy masks?” Simon asked for clarification.

“I wouldn’t know,” Magnus replied. “This city and its secrets are far older than I am.” By now they had reached the bottom of the stairs and were standing on a street of cobblestone that led towards the promenade where the gondolas landed and let their passengers debark. The first side streets joined with the promenade and with them came the first inhabitants of Undertow Simon came in contact with. There was a man wearing one of those ridiculous white wigs like the nobility of Europe in the 18th century, his face powdered completely white while his lips shone in a bright red. He wore a red waistcoat with elaborate golden embroidery, black pants and underneath white tights. All in all, he looked like he had just escaped the court of Ludwig XIV. The complete opposite was the woman in 50ies business attire, her hair held together in a tight bun, the rhythmic sound of her high heels echoing through the air like a metronome. There were many others, wearing clothes from so many different time periods that Simon couldn’t collate them all.

“Vampires,” Magnus explained unprompted. “We´re in Eastern Village, a vampiric neighbourhood. You can usually tell when they were turned by their clothes. Most vampires wear clothes from the period they were turned in.” That explained Raphael´s fondness for leather jackets and grease, Simon supposed. “Werewolves live in Westwood, which is on the other side of town, separated from Eastern Village by Oldtown and the Seelie Quarters.”

“Where do the Warlocks live?” Simon asked curiously.

“In Oldtown and some of us in the Seelie Quarters,” Magnus answered. By now they had reached the centre of the promenade and Simon´s jaw dropped in amazement: They were on a wide, open space; a plaza in which centre a statue made out of the whitest marble Simon had ever seen stood. It was a woman, tall and slender, her aristocratic features schooled into an expression of defiance and determination, her long and curly hair framing her head and upper body like golden fire. In one hand she held a sword, in the other a staff and whoever she was facing, she didn’t seem afraid of them.

“Ariadne, the Warlock under whose leadership we finally managed to fight the Clave to a standstill during the Annihilation Wars,” Magnus spoke, a certain awe in his voice. “Of course, the Clave erased her from its records and teaches its children that it was the mercy of the Shadowhunter that granted us our continued existence.”

Every now and then, a person would approach the statue, touch their own lips with their index and middle finger and then touch the statue´s feet with it, pausing for a few seconds before they continued on their way. Simon could make out vampires, werewolves (they didn’t hide their glowing eyes) and Seelies, recognisable for their pointed ears and the elaborate tattoos that adorned their faces. There were fairies dashing through the air, flying so fast that to the onlooker they were nothing but orbs of light glowing in all colours of the rainbow. Warlocks passed him by, their marks proudly on display instead of being hidden away: Simon saw a woman with fur instead of skin, a man with antlers, a little girl with the wings of an eagle sprouting from her back.

On the edge of the plaza, street vendors loudly offered their wares: Food stuff, jewellery, clothes or potions; there seemed to be nothing that wasn’t on sale. A Seelie was haggling with a Warlock over the price of a piece of cloth that constantly changed colours, a few meters away a little werewolf child tore into something that looked like a kebab.

On one side of the square the mooring area of the gondolas was situated, a constant stream of visitors arriving from there, while wide cobblestone streets led away from the others. Four-storied houses framed those streets, not a single one as the other. There were houses that looked like they came straight out of Victorian London; houses that took after Japanese architecture or ones that had a more oriental impression to them.

And everywhere people.

“It´s kind of overwhelming the first time,” Magnus commented. “I still can remember the first time I came here. The vibrancy, the colours – everything is just _more_.”

“It definitely is something,” Simon agreed. He wanted to add something else, but his stomach interrupted them with a loud growl.

“I have the right thing for that,” Magnus exclaimed and led Simon to one of the food vendors. After some haggling, Magnus gave him some coins and returned with some kind of dough that he handed over to Simon.

“It´s Make a Wish Dough,” Magnus exclaimed. “You take a bite and it turns into whatever you like the most in that moment.” Well, that certainly sounded awesome, so Simon enthusiastically took a bite. At first it tasted like his mother´s chicken soup, then it turned into the cheeseburger from Simon´s favourite Deli and when he swallowed the taste of Ben & Jerry´s Cookie Dough filled his mouth. Fortunately, the sounds around them were loud enough to cover up Simon´s indecent moaning as he took another bite from the heavenly pastry.

“I take that you like it?” Magnus asked with a smirk. Simon just nodded while his eyes rolled into the back of his head in ecstasy. It only took a few bites – every single of them tasting differently – until Simon had eaten it all, but he had never felt fuller.

They left the plaza and strolled along the promenade, to their left the houses and to their right the lake that ended somewhere beyond Simon´s field of vision. And as they walked, the feeling of awe and admiration within Simon were receding and instead being replaced by dread and sorrow. All what he was seeing – the architecture, the magic, the people – was not meant to be to last. In a few decades Valentine and his followers would do something to the city´s powerful wards and make the whole structure implode on itself, killing thousands of Downworlders and destroying their cultural heritage. And Simon was the only one that knew.

“Let´s sit down here,” Magnus suddenly spoke and pointed towards an empty bench that overlooked the lake. “If find the view always soothing when something troubles me.” They sat down and for a while the only sounds that could be heard was the faint chattering of the people, the tick tack of shoes on the pavement and the gargling of the water underneath them.

“Magnus…”

“Don´t Simon,” Magnus interrupted. “Don´t tell me about Undertow´s end. About the death of its magic and its people. Don´t tell me.”

“How do you know?” Simon wanted to know, barely above a whisper.

“You may have been here for only a few weeks, Simon, but I had centuries to perfect my observation skills,” Magnus replied. “It wasn’t that difficult to guess that something terrible must have happened – or will happen – to this city. You gave it away without a single word.”

“Then why don´t you wanna know what´ll happen?” Simon asked.

“Ariadne managed to unite the Downworlders against the Clave after a group of fanatic Shadowhunters assassinated a peace convoy. It united us, made us strong and in the end enabled us to stand our ground against the Clave,” Magnus replied. “Atrocities always unite people in grief and hate.”

“That´s callous and cynical,” Simon pointed out. “What about all the people?”

“Tell me, Simon,” Magnus spoke, his gaze boring into Simon´s, “can you with absolute certainty guarantee that the change you propose will lead to a better future?” Simon opened his mouth to tell Magnus, that, yes, it would, but he stayed his words. In his version of events, the destruction of Undertow had been what had finally forced the Clave to admit that they had a full-blown revolution on their hand – a schism that threatened the very foundation of their existence. They began to hunt down the Circle and allied themselves with the Downworld, ultimately leading to the Circle´s defeat and Valentine´s death (which had never been real). So, no, Simon couldn’t promise a better future, couldn’t even promise a future for the Downworld at all, because maybe if the Clave never got their heads out of the sand, Valentine might have managed to take it over and eradicate every single Downworlder with the help of the Mortal Instruments.

And what of all the existences telling Magnus would erase? Would he and Clary even be born in such an alternate timeline? Until now the changes he had wrought were small but what if Simon erased himself from existence? Alec and Isabelle certainly wouldn’t exist for what reason would there be for the Lightwoods to receive clemency when they never repented? And who could be sure that telling Magnus now would even save Undertow? What if Valentine simply tried again and again until he would succeed? From the pain in Magnus’ expression he seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

“It breaks my heart, Simon, it does,” he whispered. “These are my people and yet even if you tell me I can´t guarantee that we will survive. At least in your future we preserved, but who is to say that we would do so again? So please, let me keep my ignorance until it will be torn from me.” And who was Simon to deny that request?

“Alright,” Simon replied morosely.

The city shone from behind them, its light reflecting off the dark water, like a swarm of fireflies that hung between them and the darkness. There was a preciousness to this moment; a fragility that could shatter any second, so Simon basked in it as long as he could and Magnus did the same.

“Thank you,” Simon murmured. “For taking me here.” The image of Undertow would forever stay with him, a precious memory that would drive him on. A light in the darkness.

“You´re welcome,” Magnus replied.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was our excursion to Undertow, next we´ll return back to New York where I plan to stay until Simon is send back to the future. I should definitely stop adding one mini-arc after another and instead focus on pushing the story forward, but I just have so many ideas *shrugs* 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love <3


	16. Arc I: Reconciliatio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael gets his act together, Simon gets an apology, a crew and a love confession and Clary gets a new haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What´s this? A bird? A plain? No, it´s the result of the excessive amount of free time I currently have at my disposal *cheers* also, this chapter is 23,04% Saphael interaction which is quite an improvement compared to the last few chapters but I want that quote to go up. Also, there´s some actual plot (well, 3,1% actual plot) *gasps*

**1953**

* * *

Raphael didn’t come to school again on Friday. Not that Simon was under the illusion that even if he had come he would have even deigned to look at Simon, but it nevertheless set another wave of disappointment through his body when the other boy didn’t appear on the steps that led up to the school. Simon should have gotten used to it by now.

The first periods trudged as if time had suddenly decided to run slower. He could barely keep himself awake during the lecture in English about Shakespeare, got several equations wrong in Maths and didn’t even have the energy to laugh when one of his classmates thought that Africa was a country, not a continent. And through all of it, the empty seat next to him gaped like an open wound. He should have gotten used to it by now, nearly a whole week without Raphael, except for yesterday where Raphael had all but ignored his very existence, but it still felt fresh as if it happened just a few hours ago. 

When lunch hour arrived, Simon hoped that he could escape Brittany and her gang because he really wasn’t in the mood for them, but alas, all of his hope was for naught when he found himself pressed between Chad and Jeremy while Rebecca sat in front of him on the other side of the table.

“Are you looking forward to later?” Rebecca asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Why?” Simon asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion. Rebecca let out a shocked gasp.

“For Chad´s party, you dummy!” she exclaimed. “It´s gonna be _the_ event of the year!”

“Yeah, nearly the whole school is coming!” Jeremy threw in. Simon raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” he amended. “The hot crowd, anyway.”

“Jeremy just hopes that Anne will be coming,” Rebecca teased him. “It´s the only thing he´s been talking about since forever.” Jeremy blushed, but didn’t deny anything.

“Wait, wait,” Simon interjected. “Anne Miller from Geography who didn’t know that Africa was a continent?” He threw a scandalised look at Jeremy.

“Well, you don´t need to know anything about Africa for cooking and throwing a household,” Jeremy grinned and high-fived Chad. Brittany´s lips pressed into a thin line at that comment and Simon had to remind himself that those were nice guys who were formed by the society they grew up in, so when he opened his mouth again, it wasn’t a scathing remark about the objectification of women: “I really don’t know if I can come.”

“You have to!” Rebecca exclaimed. “You promised you´d sing!”

“I did no such thing!” Simon shot back flabbergasted.

“Well, Brittany said you would, so you can´t chicken out now,” Chad threw in. Simon was very tempted to just bang his head against the table in frustration, but he could hold himself back.

“You need to go out more, Simon,” Brittany told him. “Live a little.” Knowing a lost cause when he saw one and also aware of how precarious his social standing still was, Simon finally relented, which earned him a round of cheers from the table.

* * *

“You know that Rebecca´s sweet on you,” Brittany suddenly told him later when they walked through the hallway towards the entrance doors after the school day had ended.

Simon let out an undignified shriek and nearly fell over after he had processed Brittany´s words.

“Why would you tell me that?!” he exclaimed indignantly. “I could have continued living in blissful ignorance.”

“Well, she´s been trying to catch your attention,” Brittany replied. “I thought you should be aware of it. One´s blissful ignorance can be the cause of another´s hurt.” Thinking about his and Clary´s past, Simon had to agree: All those small gestures, the shy words, only for them to be ignored, not out of cruelness but of ignorance had hurt – a slow death of thousand papercuts – and he didn’t really want to be the cause of such a pain in another person.

“I´m not really interested,” Simon mumbled.

“I know,” Brittany just replied. “But it´s not me that needs to hear that.”

“That´s gonna suck,” Simon mumbled, running his hand through his hair. They walked through the door and instantly the sun was shining down on them while students walked across the yard in groups, chatting and laughing; just welcoming the weekend in general. Boys drove past with their cars, trying to look cool and suave in front of the girls that were lounging on the grass, but failed desperately, because they looked like Grease-rejects.

And behind the parking lot, where a row of trees separated the school grounds from the street, a familiar face was looking up at the school: Raphael.

Next to Simon, Brittany pulled out her sunglasses and put them on.

“You should go to him,” she commented casually. Simon wanted to, he really did, but his feet just wouldn’t move and his throat had suddenly gone dry.

“I can´t,” he croaked out.

“Of course you can,” Brittany chided him. “He´s obviously waiting for you. You need to go to him and have an honest heart-to-heart. I can´t have you be your miserable pinning self at Chad´s party.”

“I´m not pinning!” Simon protested, panicking inwardly. He knew very well the 50ies attitudes towards homosexuality (even though he was bi, but he doubted that would change anyone´s mind) and he didn’t know if he could bear Brittany´s disgust or the callous hate that would follow once the whole school knew.

“Relax, Simon,” Brittany tried to calm him down. “It´s only obvious to me and I don´t really care.”

“Why?” Simon wanted to know.

“Because I love my uncle,” was Brittany´s reply. “No, go and get your man!” And with that she left Simon standing there while she made her way towards Chad and the others.

For a short moment – just a split second, really – Simon contemplated just ignoring Raphael and spare himself the emotional hurt that was surely to come, but the urge vanished as soon as it had come, so instead Simon steeled himself inwardly and walked on.

As Simon stood in front of Raphael, he silently regarded the other boy: His hair was a little bit dishevelled, not much, but enough for it to be different from its usual look. There were bags under his eyes, but they weren´t as pronounced as they had been the last time Simon had seen him and he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt even though it was still warm enough for t-shirts.

Simon didn’t really know what to say. Didn’t really know why Raphael had come here, so he just stayed silent and waited for the other boy to speak first.

“Walk with me?” Raphael asked nervously, and yeah, maybe he had a point: Whatever they were going to do, they definitely shouldn’t do it on the edge of the school´s parking lot. So, Simon just nodded and they started to walk along the street in silence. It wasn´t awkward, but there was no denying that tension hung in the air between them, like static that could turn into lightning at any moment.

“I really don’t know what to say,” Raphael admitted after a while.

“You don’t?” Simon remarked. “I thought you were the one with a plan, because, y’know, you came here?” Raphael scratched the back of his head.

“I had some prepared sound bites,” he confessed. “From the movies, you know? Because they sound awesome and they always resolve everything, but I doubt a James Dean monologue will do anything.” A pause. “I wanted to apologise. You surprised me and then I was torn in so many directions that I didn’t know what to do anymore. I felt so lost and alone and I thought that I could make things go back to the way they were by shutting you out. That shunning you would make all those confusing feelings go away, but they didn’t.” He took another breath. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Simon. But I should have told you that, instead of acting the way I did.”

“I accept your apology,” Simon replied. “And I also need to apologise. My family never cared about who I love, so I didn’t really think about it would make you feel. How it would affect your life and for that I´m truly sorry.” This time the pause was awkward, for after everything had been said none of them knew what to say now.

“So, what now?” Simon asked.

“I said I didn’t know if I could give you what you want,” Raphael began, “but I thought about it and I want to try at least.” A shy smile appeared on his face and Simon could have melted at the sight of it.

“I´d like that,” he replied and smiled back. They didn’t touch, didn’t hug, didn’t hold hands because they were on the open street, but in this moment Simon felt invincible, as if he could take on the whole world and win and maybe Raphael felt like this, too.

“Do you want to come to the party the guys are throwing later?” Simon suddenly blurted out.

“What?” Raphael asked confused by the sudden change in topic.

“Well,” Simon began, scratching the back of his head. “Brittany and Chad are throwing a party today and I´m invited, but I´m pretty sure it´ll be more fun if you were there, too.” Raphael stared at Simon as if he had grown a second head.

“They all hate me,” he pointed out.

“I kinda worked on getting their asshole levels down,” Simon promised. “And, honestly, there will be so many people there that they won´t even notice you. We can abscond together if you don’t like it and go to my place. Pretty, pretty, please?” For a moment Raphael looked at him with that all too familiar mixture of fondness and exasperation that was usually found on the Raphael Simon knew from the future, making a strange sort of pain shot through his heart before it abated again.

“Alright,” Raphael finally relented. “But I reserve the right to leave whenever I want.” Simon nodded. “And I also want ice cream.”

“That´s pretty random, but okay?” Simon laughed.

“Sometimes you use these phrases that make me think you´re from another time,” Raphael remarked, shaking his head in fondness.

“You´ve got me,” Simon exclaimed. “In truth, I´m a time traveller from 2016 and only here because of some dastardly magics that catapulted me into 1953.” There was a split-second of laughter before they both broke into laughter.

When they finally got to the nearest ice cream parlour, Simon treated himself to an excessive amount of chocolate ice cream which would have cost him a fortune in the future New York – inflation was truly a bitch. Raphael was satisfied with vanilla, a fact which Simon bemoaned loudly.

“Vanilla isn’t a real flavour,” he proclaimed. “it´s just…vanilla.”

“Your flawless argumentation has me convinced,” Raphael deadpanned as they sat down on a nearby bench. Simon just glowered at him.

“I´ll have you know that I´m a master debater,” Simon defended himself.

“Probably because everyone eventually agrees with you just to shut you up,” Raphael retorted, but there was no malice behind his words.

“True,” Simon admitted unabashed. They sat in silence for a while, eating their ice cream while cars passed by on the street in front of them.

“It´s nice, I guess,” Raphael finally spoke. “Just sitting here, without a worry in the world.” He sighed. “In a few months, we´ll be finished with school and then we have to face the world on our own.”

“Ugh, I don´t want to adult,” Simon complained. “So, you´re going to become a world-renowned pianist?” A wistful smile appeared on Raphael´s face.

“Yeah, that´s my dream,” he replied. “I wanted to go to college, though, but they´ll never grant me a scholarship and Mom…she needs the money to get Martín and David through school. So, I´ll probably work at construction or something. At least I´ve got a High School Diploma, that´s more than most in our neighbourhood have.” Simon fumed silently at the injustice of it all.

“That´s so unfair,” he seethed. Raphael just shrugged.

“It´s how the world works,” he replied.

“Well, it shouldn’t,” Simon insisted.  

“It´s what I have to work with,” Raphael said.

“Magnus has connections; I bet he´d be willing to put in a good word for you,” Simon offered. Magnus would probably pay all of Raphael´s expenses if Simon asked him to. Over the decades he had accumulated so much wealth that he didn’t know what to do with all of it, so paying someone´s tuition wouldn’t be much of a bother to him. Simon didn’t mention that, though. He had the feeling that Raphael wouldn’t want to feel like he was a charity case.

“Don´t bring up my hopes,” Raphael muttered. “Anyway, Martín and David wanted to know when you´ll come over again. They want another round of Dungeons & Dragons.”

“Really?” Something warm spread through Simon´s body at the thought that Raphael still wanted him to interact with his family.

“Yeah, really,” Raphael replied.

“Tell them I´m more than happy to oblige,” Simon said, cleaning his hand with a tissue. “I guess we´ll see each other later then? You won´t chicken out on me, will you?”

“I won´t,” Raphael assured him, rolling his eyes.

* * *

It was Chad who opened the door.

“Simon!” he exclaimed. Simon looked past him and noticed that only Brittany, Rebecca, Jeremy and two other boys were present.

“Where´s everyone?” Simon frowned as he stepped in and Chad closed the door behind him. “I thought you said the party started at five, which, let me tell you, is much too early for a proper party.”

“I know,” Chad grinned. “I just told you to come earlier, so that you could help us with setting everything up.”

“You used me!” Simon exclaimed. Rebecca and Brittany sniggered in the background.

“I did,” Chad agreed. “You can prepare snacks and drinks with Rebecca.” Simon glowered at Brittany, because he just knew that this was her doing. Brittany just winked at him and hushed him into the kitchen.

“I guess we just start by getting everything sorted,” Rebecca sighed. “Chad just threw everything he bought in here.” Simon nodded in agreement.

“So, Simon,” Rebecca started as they were sorting through the stuff Chad had bought for the party, her grin wide. “What are you doing after school?”

“I don´t know yet,” Simon replied. That he hoped that he wouldn’t be around in 1953 for that long probably wasn’t the kind of answer the girl was looking for. “But I guess I´ll go to college. Definitely not Accounting, though.”

“Oh, that must be so boring!” Rebecca exclaimed, laying on too thick with her saccharine tone and false smile. “Whatever you´ll do, I bet you´ll succeed.” She stepped nearer to him, casually laying her hand atop his. “You just have this air of determination around you.”

“I do?” Simon stammered nervously. He was so out of his game that it wasn’t even funny anymore. Well, Magnus and Raphael would definitely have a blast if they ever saw that. Which they wouldn’t.

“Of course,” Brittany affirmed. “But have you ever thought about the woman who´ll keep your back free while you´re out there succeeding?”

_Not a woman_ , Simon thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. “No, not really. I figured that there´s still time for that.”

“You can never start too early,” Rebecca replied. By now Simon could feel her breath ghosting over his skin. He could see every speck of colour in her iris, the faint freckles around her nose, every single strand of hair. Rebecca was leaning in, trying to catch his lips, but before anything could happen, Simon tore his hand from hers and took a few steps back.

“I´m sorry, Rebecca, but I can´t,” Simon said, trying to let her down as gently as he could. “I´m already with someone else.”

“Oh.” Rebecca´s cheeks flushed red. “I didn’t know that. It´s just…you seemed so nice and Brittany said that you were progressive and you´re also rich, so my parents wouldn’t have anything against you…I thought that if I could get you, you wouldn’t care about what I did. You´d allow me to work and have my own life.” By the end of her rambling there were already tears forming in her eyes.

“Hey, hey.” Carefully Simon laid his hand on Rebecca´s shoulders in a comforting gesture. “Wanna tell me what this is really about?”

“We´re finishing High School this year and my parents are already on the lookout for a future husband,” Rebecca sobbed. “My Da thinks that a woman´s place is at home to take care of the children and my mother doesn’t really have an opinion and I´m so afraid that whoever they´ll chose will be just like my father. I don’t want to have what my parents have. I want something better. And I thought that you wouldn’t care, that you would allow me to get a job or maybe even go to college. I mean, I know you don’t like me that way – I´m not even sure if you like girls at all – but I don’t care if you´re a fairy or not, I could live with it, I could, I just wanna…I just wanna…” Towards the end her words were barely comprehensible any longer.

“I´m so sorry,” Simon whispered. “I really want to help you, but I don´t know how.” Rebecca let out another sob and flung herself at Simon, clutching him as if he was her last lifeline. Simon let her cry onto his shoulder, while he awkwardly rubbed circles on her back.

“You´ve heard how the boys are always talking about women,” Rebecca said after she had herself under control again. She let go of Simon and pulled a tissue out of one of the kitchen drawers with which she wiped away the tears. “They´re my friends and I love them, but when they talk like this I lose hope that it´ll ever get better. And I´m so afraid for any daughter I might have in the future. I don´t want her to grow up in a world like this.”

“It´s going to be better,” Simon assured her. “Any child of yours will grow up in a fairer world. That I can promise you.”

“How can you know?” Rebecca asked, still shaken from her emotional outburst.

“I just know,” Simon replied. Rebecca just gave him a shaky smile. “One day women will be everywhere; even in the White House.”

“You´re truly one of a kind, to have hope as high as this,” she remarked. “Maybe I, too, can hope a little bit.” She shook her head as if she wanted to shake off dizziness.

“I guess we should go back to preparing the snacks before the others wonder what we´re doing here.”

For the next ten minutes, they worked amicably in silence: Putting the various snacks in bowls, cutting the fruits for the cocktails, putting the drinks on ice. It was nice, Simon supposed, the vacuity of the task. No saving the world, no politicking, no Shadowhunters – just standing in a kitchen doing menial work.

Maybe that was the reason why Magnus was so fond of cooking.

“Guys, guys, guys.” Jeremy came running into the room and was barely able to come to a stop before he would have crashed head-first into the counter. “It´s time!”

“Time for what?” Simon asked confused.

“You´ll see,” Jeremy told him with a sly grin. He stepped behind Simon and steered him out of the kitchen towards the living room, where Chad and Brittany were lounging on the couch, a guitar resting on Chad´s lap.

“Oh, no!” Simon burst out, trying to just turn around, but Jeremy´s grip on his shoulders was unescapable and so Simon could do nothing but surrender to his fate.

“We noticed that you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of playing in front of an audience consisting of strangers,” Brittany began as Rebecca threw herself on the place right next to her. “So we decided that you just have to play before the guests arrive.” She smiled brightly as him as if she just had achieved world peace while Simon continued to glower at all of them.

“Where are the other two?” Simon wanted to know.

“Out, buying some stuff,” Chad replied.

“Please, Simon,” Rebecca pleaded. “We shall breath no word of it to anyone.”

“You sound like some English snob,” Jeremy commented. “Who the hell says ‘shall’?”

“So, will you do it?” Brittany asked and suddenly the attention was turned back on Simon, who just sat there and gulped. He really wanted to deny their request, but all of them were looking at him with hope and quite pathetic puppy eyes.

“Alright,” Simon finally relented, not willing to disappointed. Jeremy and Chad high-fived while Rebecca and Brittany squealed in glee. Chad offered him the guitar which Simon took. It had been quite some time since he last had played, but to Simon it nevertheless felt like homecoming. Like meeting an old friend after a long bout of separation.

He played a few accords, just to get a feeling for the instrument underneath his fingers and silence settled upon the room. Then, when Simon felt confident enough and after taking a deep breath, he started playing.

[ _Got a drop in my throat,_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyrmoctb6so&t=113s)

_Chill in my bones,_

_When no one's around._

_See a light in a flare, nobody's there,_

_They don't hear a sound._

_All the burden that I face inside every night,_

_I'm a stranger when I wake, wake up in your eyes._

Everyone around him had fallen silent. Simon allowed the music to flow through him, his hands moving on their own accord, coaxing the tunes from the guitar so that they could float in the space between them.

_When the world I've come to know_

_Is a replica of our own,_

_Forever alone._

_Flying in the air._

It was as if the whole word had fallen silent around them; as if the music itself had hidden them away, behind a barrier of sound, so that nothing could get at them. Time seemed to have stopped.

_When I'm refuged and I'm saved,_

_And mystery never breaks,_

_I'm hiding away._

_Flying in the air._

_It's a fragile world, fragile world, fragile world._

_Flying in the air._

_It's a fragile world, fragile world, fragile world._

_Flying in the air._

As he sung those words a sweet pain shot through Simon: He knew all too well how fragile his world was; how easily it could shatter, how fast everything could be coming crashing down. But his life consisted of having one curveball after another thrown at him and he had learned how to roll with the punches. He had learned _how to fly_.

_Cause I've come too far, under the stars,_

_I'm ready to feel._

_The uneasy pain,_

_Mysterious ways,_

_I'll never refill._

_All the burden that I face inside every night,_

_I'm a stranger when I wake, wake up in your eyes._

Simon had never suffered the illusion that the world of the Shadowhunters and Downworlders would simply accept him. That he would fit in – belong to – as easily as he did with the Mundanes. He had fought for his place – had learned, had questioned, had suffered – for getting where he was now and he would never forget that. The Shadow World may not want him, but he was there and he planned for it to stay that way.

_When the world I've come to know,_

_Is a replica of our own._

_Forever alone._

_Flying in the air._

_When I'm refuged and I'm saved,_

_In mystery never breaks._

_I'm hiding away._

_Flying in the air._

_It's a fragile world, fragile world, fragile world._

_Flying in the air._

_It's a fragile world, fragile world, fragile world._

_Flying in the air._

The last words were spoken, the last accords were drawn from the guitar and yet the moment lingered on, as if he wasn’t yet willing to leave, not willing to let them go. However, everything is ephemeral, and so the music, too, slowly faded away until there was nothing but silence, the spell everyone had been put under broken all of a sudden.

“That was awesome,” Jeremy whispered, as if he didn’t want to sully the moment by speaking too loud. Next to him Rebecca just nodded, unable to say anything at all.

“Why wouldn’t you sing in front of a crowd?” Chad wanted to know.

“Because music is something personal to me,” Simon answered. “I don’t share it with everyone.” No one missed the implication that by letting them listen, he had showed himself to them in a way he hadn’t done before.

“It was definitely good, though,” Brittany chimed in. The others nodded.

“That´s enough of that touchy feeling stuff,” Chad interrupted. “The party´s starting soon and we still have stuff to prepare.” Simon rolled his eyes (as did the girls), but all of them stood up, willing to help Chad on his quest to make this ‘the best party, ever’.

* * *

Raphael stared at Chad Richardson´s house and the loud music that boomed from within and wondered again if coming here had really been such a great idea. The only person who actually wanted him to be there was Simon, but he couldn’t have said no when the other had asked him if he wanted to come, even though he knew that he should have. But Simon had looked so hopeful, so sincere in his desire to come to a new understanding with Raphael that denying his request would have felt like a sacrilege.

Pulling together his last remnants of courage, Raphael started to walk down the street, past all those well-kept houses that his family would never be able to afford, underneath the street lights that weren’t broken over a street that wasn’t full of potholes.

He wondered if Simon was already there, waiting for him.

Raphael would never find out, for the last thing he felt was a hand covering his mouth and a sharp pain exploding in his neck.

* * *

**Present**

* * *

The cards laid on the table in front of Clary, a silent, yet accusing reminder of her mother that was still in Valentine´s clutches. In every motif she could see her mother, in every careful drawn line that stretched over the paper she could recognise the artistry and emotion that her mother had put into each of them.

“You´re sure that the Mortal Cup is on one of the cards?” Clary asked, her mind full of doubt.

“Pretty sure,” Isabelle told her. “Your other self told us so. Anyway, it can´t hurt to try, can it?” She sent Clary an encouraging smile and somehow it made Clary feel better. Jace was leaning in the doorway across the room, his gaze scurrying through the room as if he was expecting an attack to happen at any given moment; Alec and Magnus were sitting on the couch opposite of the table, the distance between them barely enough to be considered proper.

“How do I do it?” Clary wanted to know.

“We don´t know,” Magnus shrugged. “I don´t know how Jocelyn worked that magic of hers exactly, and even if I knew I´m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to reverse it. Only you can do that.”

With a sigh Clary averted her gaze from the Warlock and looked back down on the cards that had been strewn all over the table. She couldn’t really concentrate, couldn’t really focus on the issue at hand because she was still hung up on the fact that she had been possessed by another self from a different reality. She didn’t feel right in her own skin; it felt too tight, too constricting and every time she gazed upon herself in the mirror, the face starring back felt foreign to her. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had changed, couldn’t express it in words, but she was sure that there were subtle changes, yet she couldn’t find out what they were and that was slowly driving her insane.

Clary couldn’t even be sure of her own mind anymore. Everything she felt, every single thing she thought, she second-guessed, because she couldn’t tell if it came from herself or if it was a remnant of the other Clary that she had left behind in her mind. Sometimes she just wanted to scream, tear out her hair _(the other Clary had the same hair as her, like liquid fire flowing down her shoulders)_ , just wanted to make herself feel like she was herself again, with no foreign interloper in her own body.

But she didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything. She just continued to smile, all the while she was breaking apart on the inside.

“Clary.” Jace calling her name was what broke her out of her miserable thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You can do it,” he said, his eyes full of confidence and faith. Clary wanted to ask if he was feeling the same. If the other Jace had robbed him like the other Clary had robbed her. But she didn’t.

“Thanks,” she replied, trying to put a smile on her face. Simon would have noticed it was fake, but Simon wasn’t her, was he? He was stuck in the past while she was here with people that couldn’t see past the fake smile and the red hair _(the same as the other Clary)_.

She stared at the cards until everything else faded into the background. She was barely aware of Isabelle sitting next to her, their voices nothing but unintelligible background noise that washed over her. All of her attention was on the cards in front of her. They were whispering to her, beckoning her to touch them, to read them, but Clary didn’t let herself get tempted. Slowly, she let her hand hover over them until she could feel this faint pull on her mind, one card´s voice raising above the others.

In hindsight, they should have figured that the Mortal Cup would be in the card that depictured, well, a cup, but no one had thought that her mother would be that obvious. Clary stretched out her hand, but instead of touching the card, it went right through it. It felt like her hand was engulfed by cold water, chilling her to the very bone, until her fingers suddenly found themselves wrapped around something metallic. Clary pulled back and with her came the Mortal Cup.

Next to her Isabelle held her breath in awe, while Alec´s eyes were wide as saucers. Clary couldn’t see Jace from where she was sitting, but she assumed that his expression must be one of similar rapture as the other two Shadowhunters. Magnus, on the other hand, didn’t looked very impressed, his face the very expression of neutrality.

Suddenly Clary couldn’t take it anymore: The possession, her new-found abilities, now this priceless artefact that could decide a whole war she didn’t want to be part of.

“Take it,” she said to Isabelle, practically shoving the stupid cup at her before she was walking out of the room. No one bothered to follow her.

* * *

Clary stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the face that looked back at her. Green eyes, white skin with a few freckles, thin lips, high cheekbones. Beautiful, as she had been told, but right now she didn’t feel beautiful. She felt used. The other Clary had come, taken over her mind and there had been nothing that Clary could have done. Forced to the back of her mind, she had watched as the other Clary tried to navigate through her world until Magnus had figured her out.

The other Clary had been so cold, her mind like an ice dessert and it had terrified her. There was a ruthlessness to the other Clary, a cold, calculating disregard for those around her that Clary hoped she didn’t possess. Yes, she, too, was using the Shadowhunters to find her mother – she didn’t care about Valentine or their clashing ideologies – but she tried to tell herself that she wasn’t as selfish as the other Clary. The other Clary had ruined that self-deception, though.

Clary needed to feel like herself again. She needed to purge herself of the other Clary, she needed to reclaim her body and mind for herself. So, she opened the drawer, pulled out the scissor and started cutting. One after another, the strands of hair fell into the sink. She didn’t care for how it looked, didn’t care how it hurt, she just tore and cut until the sink was full of hair.

When Clary was finished and looked up into the mirror, she smiled. Her hair barely reached her shoulders, cut in an uneven line, but it was her.

The other Clary, too, had had long hair. This Clary didn’t, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


	17. Arc I: Proelium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon´s presence in 1953 draws to an end with the search for Raphael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m finished with Arc I of this story, but due to the chapter having near 11k words, I decided to split it into two parts, the first of which you can read now ^^ the second chapter will be posted around Thursday or Friday, depending on how fast I can go over it. Then the story will have 81k words *screeches* my longest story ever and it´s barely halfway over lol 
> 
> Also, the story underwent some minor continuity changes, but it´s nothing big, so you don´t have to re-read everything ^^

Compared to what Hollywood had made Simon believe, Chad´s party was rather tame. There was alcohol, of course, but nothing hardcore and also a wide assortment of non-alcoholic beverages (Simon had taken a great liking to the pineapple juice with a shot of vodka); the music was loud, but not deafening and as of now no one had barricaded themselves in one of the rooms to have sex. Simon counted that as win.

That didn’t mean that the party was boring. People were milling around; talking, laughing and dancing as if they had no sorrows and for a while Simon allowed himself to be carried away by the carefree atmosphere that stretched through the whole house. He caught short glimpses of the others: Jeremy was talking to Anne, the brunette obviously not averse to how close the other boy was standing next to her, leaning with one hand on the wall, holding a cup of beer with the other while he smiled at whatever Anne was telling him. Rebecca sat on the couch with a few other girls, their peals of laughter audible even from the other side of the room while Chad and some of his friends were drinking in the kitchen. From what little Simon knew of parties (he had been on only a few back in the future), this one could definitely be counted as success if the exuberant behaviour of everyone around him was any indication to go by.

But after a while the noise and the smells that occurred when several dozen teenagers were partying became so overwhelming that Simon decided that it was time to step outside onto the veranda in order to catch some fresh air and get a clear head. As he made his way through the crowd towards the door, he could hear the first attendees crying for the drinking games to finally start.

Yep, now was definitely the time to step outside, Simon thought to himself.

Simon closed the door behind him, the noise from inside fading into a quiet background humming as he turned around and let his gaze wander over the empty street in front of him. Expensive cars lined the curb, the trees and grass between street and sidewalks was well kept, not a single crack in the cement of the latter two. Every street light was in working order, shining bright and dipping the whole street into yellow-orange light. Every house – imposing three-story buildings made of brick and stone, some of more neo-classical style while others had a more renaissance leaning – had a big front garden which were so big that a second house could have been built on it. There were worlds between this and the neighbourhood the Santiagos lived in and yet Simon thought that this neighbourhood lacked something; soul, maybe. There was no soul to this area, no character, just one imposing house next to each other. It lacked the warmth Simon had felt when he had visited Raphael´s family. Maybe that was a little bit unfair, because Chad´s house definitely didn’t lack warmth either, but he was allowed to be a little biased, wasn’t he?

There was another person sitting on the steps of the veranda. When Simon stepped nearer, he noticed that it was Brittany who was sitting there alone. When she heard him approaching, she turned her head around to look at him but didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” Simon apologised. “I didn’t know you were here already. I can go somewhere else.”

“Don´t be silly,” Brittany chided him. “There´s enough space here for the two of us.” She scooted aside to make space for Simon to sit down next to her. After he sat down, she offered him her bag of chips of which he gladly took some.

“Why´re you here instead of inside with the others?” Simon wanted to know.

“Probably for the same reasons you´re here,” Brittany replied.

“I´m waiting for Raphael,” Simon told her. “He said, he´d come but he hasn’t arrived yet.” He tried not to let the disappointment seep into his voice as he told her that, but apparently, he didn’t do quite a good enough job at it for Brittany just looked at him with worry.

“It´s a lot to ask,” she pointed out.

“I asked him to come as a friend,” Simon retorted.

“That doesn’t change the fact that nearly every one of us has never given him the time of the day,” Brittany remarked.

“He would have straight out told me no then,” Simon insisted. “He wouldn’t have agreed only for him to not show up. He isn’t like that.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you then,” Brittany admitted. “You can still ask him tomorrow. How are you getting home, by the way?”

“Bus,” Simon answered.

“You´re aware that there isn’t any service around here after ten pm?” Brittany informed him. Simon´s jaw dropped. He was so used to his New York where public transportation was 24/7 than to this dozier version of the city. Of course, there wouldn’t be much bus service around here; not in an affluent neighbourhood like this where everyone and their children had their own cars!

“Shit!” he cursed. “Guess I´ll have to ask Magnus to come and collect me.”

“I can drive you home,” Brittany offered. “I´m here with my car and it´s not that much of a detour.”

“That´d be awesome,” Simon replied, smiling brightly. They continued to eat their snacks in companionate silence, watching the empty street and the few windows behind which line still shone before Brittany started to speak again.

“I´m going to break up with Chad,” she threw in offhandedly. The chip Simon was currently chewing on got stuck in his throat, making him dissolve into a coughing fit.

“Why?” he asked when he didn’t feel like he was suffocating anymore. “You seem happy.”

“We are, at the moment,” Brittany admitted. “But I don’t think that we could be in the future.”

“Again, why?” Simon repeated.

“Chad´s a great guy, don’t get me wrong,” Brittany started, “but he wants different things in life than I do. He´d be perfectly content with taking over his father´s business, marry me, have two or three children and stay here for the rest of his life.”

“I guess that isn’t what you want?” Simon asked.

“I always wanted to travel and see the world,” Brittany replied. “I just…rationalised it away, told myself that Chad was the one for me and that if staying at home and having children is expected of me, I should want it, too, and for quite a time I almost managed to convince myself of that, but then you came and suddenly a new world opens up to me and this urge to travel and discover came back.

I could barely convince Chad to go with me to Florida last summer, so how would I persuade him to travel the world with me? He doesn’t even want to leave the US; says we already got everything we need.”

“And you don’t think that he´ll change?” Simon asked.

“No.” Brittany shook her head. “He´s already trying to convince me not to go to College because it´d be just a waste of time.”

“I´m sorry then,” Simon spoke quietly. For a short moment, it looked like Brittany was about to cry – her eyes getting misty, her expression one of utter heartbreak – but then she took a deep breath and locked all those feelings away behind her usual veneer of vacuous politeness.

“Don´t be,” she replied, her voice full of tremors that betrayed her still agitated emotional state. “Better now than later.” She stood up, leaning with one hand on Simon´s shoulder. “I should go back inside.” _Enjoy the time I still have with him._ “I´ll notify you when I´ll drive home.” Simon nodded. He didn’t turn around, but he could hear her steps on the wooden floor and the door opening, noise spilling outside, before it abated again.

Later Simon, too, found himself inside again, the hour late and most of the guests already on their way home while only a few who had seriously overestimated their alcohol tolerance where laying completely shit-faced on the couches in the living room. The music had been turned down, a low background noise now, while Simon and the others were helping Chad to clean up at least a little bit before they, too, left. Simon was emptying, washing and throwing away drinking glasses and plastic cups in the kitchen when someone clapped him on the shoulder.

“What a party!” Chad exclaimed, slightly drunk, a wide grin etched on his face. “It´s gonna be the talk of the school for at least a week.”

“Congrats,” Simon replied earnestly. He, too, had drunk a little bit, but somehow he didn’t feel very drunk (which was what any drunk person would say).

“Can I tell you a secret?” Chad suddenly asked with a conspiratorial wink.

“Sure,” Simon told him while he continued to wash the dishes.

“I´ve got it,” Chad whispered, leaning dangerously close. “I´ve got it.”

“What have you got?” Simon asked for clarification while he nudged Chad back so that he wouldn’t fall over.

“A ring, stupid!” Chad exclaimed while also managing to still keep his voice down. “I´m gonna ask Brittany to marry me on graduation day.” Simon´s grip around the glass he was currently washing became so hard that he feared that it would break under the pressure.

“Isn´t that a little…premature?” he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Suddenly he was so glad that Chad was drunk, because he sure as hell would have noticed something was amiss with Simon if he wasn’t.

“Why?” Chad wanted to know confused. “My Dad did ask my Mom on graduation day, too. It´s a family tradition.” Chad´s answer was a stark reminder of the completely different times Simon found himself in: His parents, too, had gotten engaged when they were eighteen and he remembered his grandmother telling him that she and Simon´s grandfather had gotten married when they were sixteen even.

“Then congratulations are in order, aren’t they?” Simon remarked. It broke his heart to see Chad beaming at him like slightly drunk Golden Retriever, as if he had gotten the best that the world had to offer, not knowing that his love story already had an expiration date. The boy was just a product of the society he lived in and underneath the layers of societal conditioning he was just another teenager that tried to make it through life relatively unharmed; he was a good person and Simon´s heart ached for him at the thought that Brittany wouldn’t say ‘yes’ to his proposal.

“Hey, Simon, are you ready to go?!”

“Really, I´m so happy for you, dude.” Simon patted Chad on the back and then he was already out of the door, plugging his jacket from the wardrobe and following Brittany out of the house and to her car that was parked on the street.

The first minutes of the drive were awkward and tense, Simon´s mind going into overdrive, conflicted between what he had been told by his friends.

“What´s wrong with you?” Brittany asked, her gaze still on the street.

“Nothing,” Simon replied. He could tell that Brittany didn’t believe him, but thankfully she didn’t prod any further.

“Could me maybe take a little detour?” he asked.

“You wanna drop by at Raphael´s?” Brittany finished for him. “At this hour?” She arched her eyebrows. “That’s at least a thirty minutes drive.”

“I´ll pay you the gas money,” Simon tried to sweeten the deal.

“You don’t have to pay me, I have more than enough money,” Brittany scoffed. “You will buy me a coffee, though.”

“Sure,” Simon beamed.

They spent the rest of the ride in companionable silence until the car came to a halt in front of the Santiago residence, behind which living room window the light still was on.

“I´ll be right back,” Simon said, before he exited the car and walked towards the door.

“Simon!” Guadalupe exclaimed when she opened the door. “I didn’t expect you here. Raphael told me you were going to a party together. He was so excited when he left.” The smile on Simon´s face froze, but thankfully the woman didn’t notice.

“That´s why I´m here,” he said. “Raphael and another friend are going to stay over at my house, but he was too afraid to tell you, because he´s, y´know, a little drunk, so he sent me.” He winked at Guadalupe while his insides felt as if someone had poured ice over them. “He asked me to get his pyjamas and toothbrush.”

“Oh, that boy,” Guadalupe laughed. “I wouldn’t have been mad. Of course, he can stay over, I´ll get you his stuff. But tell him he should be back Sunday at least, for church, you know?”

“I´ll tell him that,” Simon promised, because Raphael would be back by Sunday. When Guadalupe handed him over Raphael´s stuff he said his goodbyes and instantly turned around and ran back towards the car once Raphael´s mother had closed the door, breathing heavily as he shut the car´s door.

“We need to get to Magnus,” he instructed Brittany, who u-turned on the street and accelerated the car. “Raphael left to go to the party, but he never arrived.”

“You think something happened to him?” Brittany asked, eyes wide open.

“I hope not,” Simon replied. “But I can think of no other reason why he never got to Chad´s house.”

“So, how are you going to find him?” Brittan wanted to know.

“Tracking charm,” Simon replied.

When they pulled up at Magnus’ house, Simon turned in his seat to look at Brittany.

“Thanks for driving me,” he told her. “See you on Monday.”

“Wait, what?” Brittany exclaimed. “Do you really think I´ll leave you alone now, drive home and act like nothing happened?” Simon looked at her confused. “I can´t go home now with the knowledge that your best friend is missing and you´re out there searching for him. The uncertainty would drive me insane! And honestly, I may not have the best relationship with Raphael, but I can´t just sit back while he´s God knows where! So, suck it up, Lewis, I´m coming with you.” She opened the door, but before she stepped out of the car, she turned around for the last time: “Besides, I already know about all this magic stuff anyway, so I want to meet that mysterious magical uncle of yours.” And what could Simon reasonably do but keep his mouth shut and nod when faced with such female ferocity?

So they both walked up to the front door, which Simon opened with his key and entered Magnus’ lair.

“Back already, Simon?” the Warlock remarked, standing atop the staircase in purple pyjamas and the matching bathrobe. “And you brought a guest.” He strode down the stairs until he stood in front of Brittany and offered his hand. “Magnus Bane.”

“Brittany Charlington,” the girl replied and shook the offered hand.

“Magnus, I need a tracking charm,” Simon interrupted without much preamble. “She knows,” he added as he saw the alarmed look Magnus threw at Brittany.

“Why that?” the Warlock asked, his eyes narrowing at Simon.

“Raphael went missing,” Simon replied. “He left his house to get to the party, but he never arrived.” The suspicious expression on Magnus’ face was instantly replaced by one of worry.

“You have something that belongs to him?” he asked. Simon nodded.

“His pyjamas and toothbrush.” He handed the aforementioned possessions over to the Warlock. Magnus took them and beckoned for them to follow him, which they did, Brittany eying everything around her with a mixture of awe and a little bit of fear.

The room Magnus led them to was familiar to Simon, for it wouldn’t much change in the coming decades: work benches were lining the walls, runes carved into them, all kinds of container and heavy, leather-bound books upon them, most of which even Simon had never seen nor read. There was a single window facing East (the direction where the sun rose, where day prevailed over night, beginning over end, life over death) and in the middle of the room a single podium upon which a table was placed. On said table a silver bowl stood, small runes carved upon its edges. It was an unassuming object, but Simon knew from experience that it probably was one of Magnus most prised possession. ‘Pensieve’ Simon had called it once, like the contraption from Harry Potter for its likeness to the same and the name had stuck somehow.

“You know what to do?” Simon nodded. While Magnus tore of a piece from the pyjama and together with the toothbrush placed it in the Pensieve, Simon opened one of the shelves and – exactly as he remembered from the future – pulled out an amphora, engraved with countless Egyptian hieroglyphs. It contained water from a special well inside the Faerie realm that was clean and undiluted like no water from the Mundane world could ever hope to be. As water was the base for many of Magnus’ spells, he needed the purest kind of it, for every taint, no matter how small or insignificant, could affect the outcome of the magic being done.

Carefully, Simon poured some of the water over the objects in the Pensieve, until they were completely subsumed by it.

“What do you want to use as carrier?” Magnus wanted to know.

“What does that mean?” Brittany asked.

“The spell needs an object to latch onto,” Simon explained. “We need something portable.” He looked around the room until he found what he was looking for on one of the work benches.

“That´ll do,” he said, handing over Magnus the silver coin.

“Alright,” the Warlock replied, throwing the coin into the bowl. Knowing what was about to happen, Simon took a few steps, taking Brittany with him, until they stood in the threshold of the room where Magnus now stood in front of the podium, his hand stretched over the bowls and eyes closed. Brittany gasped in surprise when purple mist began to form around the Warlock´s hands and slowly began to descend into the bowl, turning the water into the same colour. Even though tracking charms were amongst the easiest spells to facilitate, watching Magnus invoke his abilities still stirred childish wonder and awe in Simon´s mind. The purity of it, the otherworldliness, the mystery; it would never fail to make Simon feel like he was five again, watching Magnus perform magic for the first time. From the way her grip on his shoulders tightened, Brittany must feel similar.

Suddenly, the water in the Pensieve began to boil, steam rising up, until – from one moment to the next -  it completely evaporated, leaving behind nothing but the silver coin from before. Knowing that the spell was finished, Simon re-entered the room until he stood next to Magnus.

“It should lead you to Raphael,” Magnus told him as he handed the coin over to Simon.

“Thanks, Magnus,” Simon said, offering his gratitude. “Let´s hope that he just found a better party to get smashed at.” He gave Magnus a pained smile, because even he didn’t believe that.

“Unfortunately, I cannot accompany you,” Magnus spoke contritely. “A representative of the Clave has announced himself and I don’t know when they will arrive.” Simon nodded in understanding. “But if the situation turns out to be too dangerous, you call the police from the nearest payphone, understood? And if it turns out to be something of the supernatural variety, you call me.” Again, Simon nodded in understanding.

“Then I can only add that I hope you´ll find him unharmed.”

* * *

It was the pounding in his head that woke Raphael up. The rhythmic throbbing at the base of his skull, that would come and go like the fall of tide, always there in the background but sometimes so strong that it felt like his head was exploding. The first tries at opening his eyes nearly caused him to throw up, for the objects in his field of vision seemed to blur and sharpen in the same rhythm as his headache, but after some deep breaths, and trying to fight back the sickness by pure force of will alone, Raphael was able to finally open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

It was a warehouse. Of course, it´d be a freaking warehouse! Raphael tried to groan, but just trying to open his mouth made him feel sick again, so he kept quiet. He was surrounded by high rise racks that seemed to go on for forever, vanishing in the darkness to either side of him. Above him he could make out a few windows through which feint light from the outside shone through, which, together with the few light bulbs that were still working, illuminated everything barely enough so that he was able to see his surroundings.

There was something wet on the left side of his body. Raphael craned his neck and this time didn’t suppress his urge to curse when he noticed the dark liquid that was running down from his neck and had soaked his t-shirt. Blood. His blood. He was bleeding.

Images flashed in front of his mind: An empty street with expensive cars, a house from which loud music could be heard, people laughing and dancing behind the lit windows, apprehension and excitement coiling in his stomach, the sudden pain shooting through his body and then nothingness. Raphael tried to stand up, but his body didn’t move, wouldn’t obey his command. He didn’t know if it was because of the blood loss or…something else.

“He´s woken up, he´s woken up.” Raphael´s head snapped to where the voice was coming from. Someone was leaning against the shelves, only a short distance away from him. A man, his hair matted and unkempt, his face pale and unshaved, who was wearing a black coat that was littered with patches and holes and clung tightly to the figure´s scrawny build. When the man stepped into the glow of the light, Raphael noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and that something sinister was shining through from behind. Yet, the panic Raphael felt at the sudden appearance of the man was muted, as if he wasn’t feeling it himself but from someone else.

“They´re coming for me,” the man continued to ramble. “The nasty Clave´s coming for me. They want to hurt me, to kill me. Need fledglings to protect myself, to fight for me – kill, tear apart, maim. The boy hurt me, too, and you were with him, so I took you. You´ll hurt him back.” The man´s statement didn’t make any sense to Raphael, but they didn’t need to. The words himself made a numbness spread through Raphael´s body, muted his feelings until there was nothing but this warmth, pushed everything into the background until there was only Raphael and the man´s voice.

“You´re thirsty, aren´t you, my dear?” the man asked, his voice laced with concern. And now that he mentioned it, Raphael suddenly noticed how thirsty he was, how dry his throat, how burning it was.

“Yes,” Raphael mumbled. “I am.”

“Don´t worry,” the man cooed. “I´m here, I´m here. I´ll sate your thirst for blood and you shall sate my thirst for revenge.” The man threw back his head and let out a bark. Then he put his wrist to his mouth and bit down. There was this squishing sound – teeth sinking into and tearing through skin – but then the man kneeled down and held his bleeding wrist in front of Raphael´s face.

“Drink,” he ordered and without thinking Raphael complied. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, warmth rushed down his throat and if it wasn’t for this mental urge to drink, drink, drink Raphael would have thrown it all up. But the man kept Raphael under his spell and so he continued to drink until the man withdrew his hand, allowing Raphael to breathe again.

“Good,” the man preened. “Good.”

Cold hands grasped Raphael´s face, black eyes filled with malice and hunger staring back at him.

“Sleep well.”

A loud snap. Then just nothingness.

* * *

Brittany´s car came to a halt in front of a warehouse. They were only a few minutes away from the neighbourhood Raphael lived in, though the contrast was stark: There the immigrant neighbourhood with its vibrant community, here one generic warehouse and fabric hall after another, the only colours muted greys and blacks that turned to one undescriptive mass under the feint moon- and street light.

“We should call your uncle,” Brittany spoke as she craned her neck to look at the building looming in front of them. “There was a payphone a few blocks back.” Simon shook his head.

“It´d take too long,” he said. “We need to find Raphael now.”

“Neither of us has any means of defending ourselves,” Brittany pointed out. “We won´t stand a chance against practically everyone.”

“While we´re sitting here and argue, Raphael could be in serious danger!” Simon exploded. “I can´t wait, I need to help him now!” Not waiting for Brittany to reply, he opened the door and stormed out of the car, his resolve only supported by his brashness and bravado. The voice inside his head warned him to go alone, but Simon ignored it. Raphael needed his help right now.

His footsteps echoed over the empty parking lot that stood between the street and the warehouse, a few lampposts spending just enough light so that the space wasn’t completely succumbed by darkness. Simon felt vulnerable on the open space and hastened his steps so that he soon stood in front of the doors that led into the warehouse, which weren’t closed.

It made every alarm clock in his head ring, but he ignored them and slipped through them into the building. His eyes needed a few seconds to get acclimated to the dim lighting conditions that awaited him behind the doors, but when they did, he noticed that he stood in front of at least a dozen rows of high rise racks, reaching up to the ceiling, half empty but for some wooden crates. It was colder in here than outside and Simon shivered in his t-shirt. His skin prickled with uneasiness, for there was a certain oppressiveness to the high rising shelves to each of his side, making him feel small and insignificant. Like a lab rat in a labyrinth that it had to escape while scientists watched from the outside.

Was someone watching him?

Taking a deep breath, Simon steeled himself mentally and started walking straight into the aisle right in front of him. Raphael was in here somewhere. Simon wouldn’t leave without him. Couldn’t leave without him. Slowly, step by step, he creeped forward, always listening and trying to be as silent as possible, for he did not know what was expecting him.

He should have listened to Brittany, Simon thought miserably as he stared into the half-darkness that lingered all around him. Too late for that now, he supposed.

“He´s here, he´s here.” The voice came from everywhere, cackling madly. Simon whipped his head around, trying to locate from where it was coming from, but there was only him. “Came to play with dear old me.” Cold dread washed over Simon as he finally remembered where he knew that voice from.

“You´re the vampire that attacked us at Brittany´s house,” he uttered in horror.

“The one that got away,” the vampire cried. “But I´ll get her, too. I got you after all.”

“You have Raphael,” Simon exclaimed, his anger overriding his fear momentarily.

“He´s mine.” This time the voice was coming from his right. “Mine. Mine. _Mine!”_

“He´s not _yours!”_ Simon shouted back. In a blur, the vampire suddenly stood in front of him and before Simon could react, he was already flying back, landing hard on the ground. He winced and tried to pick himself up, but the vampire was already onto him again and lifted him from the ground as if he weighted nothing more than a feather.

“You won´t take him,” the vampire screeched, spit flying out of his mouth and covering Simon´s face. “He´ll be the first one of my army! The Clave will bow down to me and offer their worthless lives to my mercy.” Simon rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, because taunting the crazy vampire that got his hands around your throat wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

“They will bow!” Screaming the last word out loud, the vampire threw Simon against the nearest crate, which burst apart under the weight of the crash. The impact knocked the air out of Simon´s lungs and for a short moment it felt like his lungs were imploding, only for his back to light up in pain. He needed to get up and run, but the pain rendered Simon unable to even move his legs. In a blur, the vampire stood in front of him, picking Simon up by the collar as if he was nothing but bothersome baggage. With his last effort, Simon managed to close his hand around one of the wooden splinters the crate he had been thrown again had shattered into.

“You´ll be the next,” the vampire hissed. “You and the girl.”

“Hey, stupid!” The vampire´s head snapped around and there was Brittany standing at the other end of the aisle, her hand clutched tightly around an iron bar. “Are all of you vampires that weak, or is it just you who´s such a disappointment?” The vampire roared in anger and Simon saw his chance. Gathering the last bit of strength he still possessed after the trashing he had received, he tightened his grip around the wooden splinter and with an animalistic roar that held all of his pain and fury, he plunged it straight through the vampire´s chest into his heart.

The scream the vampire let out would forever be etched into Simon´s memory, a sound full of agonising pain, terror and fury that echoed through the hall as if a portal to Hell had opened and flooded the space with the screams of the damned. The vampire turned his head back to Simon and lifted his clawed hand, ready to strike Simon and cut his throat, but before he could, he suddenly shattered into thousand particles of dust, causing Simon to unceremoniously fall to the ground, slowly being covered by the grey flakes.

“Simon!” Brittany exclaimed. With a shattering thud, the iron bar fell to the ground as the girl ran towards him, her hand hovering unsure over his back as he gulped for air. After a few moments, Simon had his breathing back under control and even though it hurt like hell, he managed to stand up.

“We need to find Raphael,” he croaked and maybe Brittany wanted to urge him to take it slowly, but seeing the determined expression on his face, she thankfully abstained from such action.

“We´re halfway through the hall, anyway,” she remarked. “There isn´t much space where Raphael could be.”

So they continued searching, aisle after aisle, so terrible afraid of what would expect them when they would find Raphael. The only sound accompanying them was Simon´s ragged breathing. He didn’t think that he had broken or sprained something, but he felt like he was one big walking bruise. Now that the vampire was dead, the oppressing atmosphere that had smothered them when they had entered had vanished, leaving Simon with only feeling this dreadful sense of foreboding that he just couldn’t shake off.

“Simon,” Brittany whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “Over there.” His gaze followed her outstretched hand until he saw what she was pointing at.

“No, no, no, no,” he pleaded as he ran towards the huddled figure of Raphael that was leaning against the wall. “Wake up, Raphael, wake up, no, no, no.” He didn’t care that his body was protesting his harsh treatment with even more pain, didn’t care that his hands were smeared with blood (Raphael´s blood), didn’t care for Brittany who was standing behind him, silently crying.

The only thing he cared about was that those brown eyes would snap back into focus and would look at him, like they used to, with mirth, warmth and kindness. He only cared that those lips would curl into that fond smile, the only piece of home he could still cling to in these times. He only cared for Raphael to wake up and take him into his arms and promise that everything would be okay. He only cared for Raphael being alive.

But he wasn’t.

He just laid there, smeared with blood, with a broken neck and an expression of terror frozen on his face.

Simon had come too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


	18. Arc I: Mors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one life Simon died and was brought back by Raphael and Clary. In another he died as well, but there was no Clary nearby.
> 
> And Raphael was the one to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, the last chapter of Arc I *screams internally* I can´t believe that I wrote over 81k words already. I want to thank all of you who have given Kudos, commented and followed. You´re literally the reason why I continue writing (I´m not kidding; I´m really just writing for the comments and the hits stat to go up lol) 
> 
> Also, I´ve started an internship where I have to work 40h a week, so I won´t have that much time to continue writing. Don´t expect any updates soon ^^

“We need to bury him,” Simon finally spoke, turning around to face Brittany, yet Raphael´s unseeing eyes wouldn’t vanish from his mind.

“What?!” Brittany screeched.

“The vampire fed him his blood and killed him,” Simon stated. “That means that there´s a chance that he´ll turn. But only if we bury him now.”

“Are you really sure you want to do that?” Brittany asked, her voice full of worry and concern. “I can´t pretend that I knew Raphael very well, but would he have wanted that for himself? He was very religious, wasn’t he?”

“I can´t let him die,” Simon whispered brokenly. They had finally made up and were moving forward and now it had been torn from him in the most gruel way and Simon couldn’t let it end that way. His mind couldn’t let their history end like this. There was still so much that he wanted to live through together with Raphael, still so much to experience together – _still so much to feel_ – so Raphael couldn’t just leave him here with all those unfulfilled promises.

“That´s not your decision to make, Simon,” Brittany spoke. “What if he hates you for it?”

“At least he´d be alive to hate me,” Simon shot back. “I take him hating me over his dead body.” Brittany just stared at him, her lips set into a thin line, her blouse streaked with blood _(Simon didn´t know where it had come from, hadn’t noticed)_ , her hair dishevelled and her eyes inscrutable. In this moment, her appearance was further away from the rich and spoiled brat that Simon first got to know a few months back than it had ever been before. She didn’t look like a warrior – it took quite a lot for that; Magnus and Raphael had that particular look, but not Simon and certainly not Brittany _(at least not now)_ – but she looked like someone who had seen horrors beyond the mundane.

For a short moment Simon felt sorry. He wondered what Brittany´s life had been before he had been sent into the past to screw it all up. Would she have married, gotten her two or three children and never lift a single finger in her life, living off her parent´s inheritance? Would she have been – _had she been_ happy? Did Simon crashing in her life ruin her or did he change it for the better? He would probably never find out. Fate was never that kind.

“Do you have shovels?” Brittany ended their silent stand-off and Simon shot her a grateful smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but that nevertheless conveyed his silent gratitude. He didn’t think that he could make it through the night without Brittany´s help. She needed him to be strong and reliable and so he was, instead of breaking down into a sobbing mess.

“It´s a warehouse, there must be some tools around her somewhere,” Simon said. He hated warehouses. It was always so cliché, so done already, and yet here he was, in a warehouse in the middle of the night, in company of a corpse.

“I´ll guess we go searching, then?” Brittany asked. Simon just nodded and without explicit prompting, they each walked into opposite directions in order to cover more ground. The only light that illuminated his surroundings was the shine from the street lamps outside that spilled through the roof lights. It didn’t quite reach the ground, though, for the storage racks that rose to the ceiling on both sides plunged Simon´s way into a half-shadow to which his eyes had difficulties to acclimate to. The shelves were half empty, non-descript wooden boxes that gave no hint as to what they contained the only things they held. Every moment that he continued walking, Simon expected something to throw itself at him – _to tear, to bite, to destroy_ – but there was nothing but silence and darkness.

Rage coiled in his stomach and replaced the miasma of fear and grief. If Simon and Brittany hadn’t found Raphael, then his last resting place would have been here, amidst empty shelves and wooden crates until his flesh turned into dust, indistinguishable from the one that was already coating every surface. It was ignoble and undeserving for Raphael – for anyone, really – and this lack of decency and decorum made Simon´s blood boil.

He clung to this rage like it was his life line, because anything was better to feel than the hurt and the grief that threatened to tear him apart if he just gave in for a second. Rage kept him going, made him breathe, made him think – anger gets shit done, and there were a lot of things that needed to be done this night.

“Simon!” Brittany´s voice tore through the silence like a gunshot and made him flinch in fright. “Come back, I have something.” Relieved that he didn’t need to continue through the abandoned aisle, Simon turned around until he found himself back at the spot where…where Raphael laid. Brittany was already there, holding two shovels in her hands.

“There was a room over there,” she explained, pointing towards the other end of the hall. “It got some tools in it.”

“Who´s going to…” She didn’t finish her question, but from the way her eyes twitched towards Raphael, Simon knew what she was going to ask.

“I´ll carry him,” Simon offered, his face set into a grim expression. He may still be hurt, his body may still ache from the fight, but it still held enough strength for this task. Brittany let out a relieved sigh. Simon wanted to be mad at her, but he couldn’t: A few hours ago, they had been partying like normal teenagers and now he was asking her to bury Raphael with him so that he could turn into a vampire. Up until now Brittany was taking the whole thing very calm, so Simon couldn’t really fault her for not wanting to carry his friend´s corpse.

Carefully, Simon crouched down and with one deep breath lifted Raphael from the ground in bridal style. Even though Raphael couldn’t have been dead for more than a few hours, his body was already cold. Because the vampire sucked out much of his blood, Simon realised. There was nothing left to keep Raphael warm, so as they walked out of the warehouse it felt more like Simon was carrying a life-size doll than an actual human being.

“There´s a spot of green over there,” Brittany said, pointing towards the edge of the empty parking lot. Simon swallowed back the comment about how Raphael deserved something better than an unmarked grave at the edge of a parking lot, but if needs must, then so be it. So they trudged silently towards the spot Brittany had pointed to, where Simon carefully lowered Raphael on the ground and took the shovel Brittany handed to him without prompting.

“I´ve never dug a grave,” Brittany told him. “I really don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither,” Simon admitted. “You just dig until it´s deep enough for a body. Doesn´t sound so difficult.”

It was difficult. Not because there was some complicated work behind digging out a grave, but because it was an immensely tiring and repetitive task. Thankfully the ground was mellow, and yet after a while Simon could feel the muscles in his arm and back to burn up in protest until each of his movements was accompanied by sharp pang of pain. It didn’t go away, just ebbing back and forth according to his movements. Next to him he could feel Brittany taking in ragged breaths, but she didn’t complain; no, she didn’t even utter a single sound, just continued digging even though she must hurt even worse than Simon.

He didn’t really know how much time passed – each movement just a repetition of the one before, again and again and again, until Simon didn’t even need to think about anymore because his body was on auto-pilot, just digging and digging – but the hole grew deeper and deeper until its edge reached Simon´s navel.

“I think that´s deep enough,” he spoke hoarsely, as if the menial work had also affected his voice. He heaved himself out of the pit and offered Brittany his arm which she gratefully took in order to lift herself out of the grave.

“I need your help…I can´t put him into it alone,” Simon pleaded. He could deduce from Brittany´s expression that it cost her quite an effort to overcome her disgust and fear, but she nodded anyway.

“Just…make it fast,” she asked of him. Brittany took Raphael by the legs while Simon grabbed him under the arms and slowly they lifted him up and dragged him over the open grave where they carefully laid him down. It was still too rough and one time Brittany nearly let go of Raphael, but finally he laid in the grave they had dug up for him.

Devotionally, Simon crossed Raphael´s arms over his chest, tugged at his clothes to make him look more presentable and brushed his hair aside that had fallen over his eyes. In the end, it wouldn’t matter anyway, but if this was to be Raphael´s burial, then the least Simon could do was not to make him look like some druggie he had killed on the street. He could give Raphael that much dignity.

“Here, put this around his neck.” Simon turned around to look at Brittany. She had unclipped the golden necklace and was now offering it to him. It was a simple band with no decoration or accessories but a single cross on it. Simon had never paid much attention to it, but now that Brittany was offering it to him, he was struck by the sudden familiarity.

It was the cross Raphael always wore in the future. The one he had told Simon his mother had given him before he went out to hunt the vampire that was plaguing his neighbourhood.

_“Why are you wearing this?” Simon asked as he pointed at the golden cross that hung around Raphael´s neck. “It must hurt, doesn’t it?”_

_“It´s a reminder,” Raphael answered. “A reminder of the humanity I once possessed and the promise of forgiveness that God extends to every creature on this earth.”_

And now Brittany was the one to give Raphael the cross. Had Simon´s stay in the past truly changed that much? Or did Fate just put things back in the order they had been before Simon showed up?

“Are you sure?” Simon croaked.

“I know that Raphael was very devout,” Brittany replied. “He should be buried with a symbol of his faith. It´s only right.” With shaking hands, Simon put the necklace around Raphael´s neck and climbed out of the grave. Looking down on Raphael now, Simon could see the person that he got to know in the future.

Filling the grave up was somehow more difficult than digging it had been. It felt disrespectful and wrong to just shovel dirt on Raphael, but that was the nature of burying someone, so Simon just ignored his own discomfiture and continued with his work.

“So, what now?” Brittany asked after they were finished. Only the dirty brown earth amidst the green grass indicated that anything had happened at all. “Do we just wait?”

“I don’t know how long it´ll take,” Simon replied. “I´ve never witnessed a new vampire being born.”

“Should we say something, then?” Brittany asked.

“I don´t know what to say,” Simon admitted. “I´m not familiar with catholic burial traditions and anything else I have to say I´ll do so in person.” Because Raphael would be coming back and then Simon would again be able to talk to him. Because Raphael needed to come back. He needed to. He could practically feel Brittany´s stare drilling into his back, but he ignored her, instead watching the grave, as if Raphael would come out of it any moment.

“I never said thank you, didn’t I?” Simon spoke after a while. “For your help, I mean. You were thrown into a world you didn’t know existed and were told to swim or drown, but you persisted. And now you helped me bury someone only so that he could come back. That mustn’t be easy. So, thank you, Brittany.” He turned around and smiled at her. Tried to, at least; it probably came out more as a grimace than an actual smile.

“For better or for worse, I´m part of this world, too, now,” Brittany replied. “And I couldn’t very well let you do it on your own, could I?”

“It´s definitely appreciated,” Simon told her. “But there´s one last thing I need you to do.”

“What is it?” Brittany wanted to know.

“I need you to drive to Magnus and bring him here,” Simon told her. “He knows more about vampires than I do, probably more than anyone alive and he needs to be here when Raphael comes back.”

“I can´t leave you here alone,” Brittany protested.

“Please, Brittany,” Simon pleaded. “We´re on an empty parking lot near a warehouse in the middle of the night. Nothing´s gonna happen to me, but we need Magnus, so please?” For a few moments Brittany looked like she was wrestling with herself, unsure if she should deny Simon´s request or accept it, but in the end, she just nodded silently.

“I´ll be back as soon as I can,” she promised. Then she turned around and strode towards her car that was still parked on the street.

Simon watched her go, a strange feeling in his chest as if he had forgotten something. As if he should have said something. But he shook that feeling off, because he knew that there wasn’t anything left to say.

Instead, he turned around and continued to wait.

* * *

Brittany was driving through town, on her way to Simon´s uncle who wasn’t really his uncle but a powerful magical being, when the severity of her situation hit her. Suddenly her hands were shaking and she barely managed to drive her car to the side of the street, before the tremors shaking her body were so severe that she felt like she wasn’t able to breath anymore. There was blood on her blouse and her hands – _Raphael´s blood_ – which she could barely make out through the veil of tears that were obscuring her sight.

Maybe she had been collected and put together when she had helped Simon burry his best friend, but right now all those feelings she had pushed to the back of her mind were crashing down on her and she could do nothing but life through the fear, the waves of disgust, the abject terror and the grief that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel back then.

Brittany let out a hysterical sob.

_I need to get to Magnus_ , she thought to herself, but she couldn’t make her body stop shaking. Simon needed her to get his uncle and her she was, too weak to even drive a car.

“I´m not weak,” Brittany whispered to herself. “I´m not weak.” She repeated that mantra again and again and slowly but surely the shaking abated, the tears stopped from falling and she was able to breathe again. The mental scars would remain and come back to haunt her, but not now.

She could be weak again later, but right now Brittany had to be strong.

Restarting the motor, Brittany continued to drive.

No time for weakness.

* * *

Magnus knew that something was wrong.

He could feel it in his bones, could taste it in the air, a maelstrom of magical energies that percolated the very atmosphere around him, blanketing the whole town like snow during winter. He could feel the magic tearing at his edges, trying to take him wherever the energy went, an oily film that wouldn’t mix with his own magic who hissed at the foreign matter like a cat would to a dog. When he looked out of the windows, he could see the effects of whatever had happened: Like the polar lights, green, purple and red stripes penetrated the sky, shimmering and coiling around each other like snakes.

Magnus could feel and see all this because of his Warlock nature, but he doubted that even Mundanes were completely unaware of what was happening around them. They would call it some kind of weather phenomena, but deep down they, too, realised that it was just a lie they told themselves.

It wouldn’t be long until representatives of the Clave would come knocking at his door, demanding explanations, or more likely, demanding that he put an end to it, even though he wasn´t even the perpetrator. The Clave didn´t care much for such distinctions, though.

But until then he would stay here, standing in front of his window and enjoy the spectacle.

After all, magic, no matter what kind, was always a beauty to behold.

The knock on the door shot through the silence of his home like gunshots and for a moment Magnus contemplated just ignoring the Shadowhunters that were probably waiting on the other side of his door. He was tempted by it – he really was – but in the end, he recognised that acting childish like that would only do him more harm in the long run, so with a sigh he turned around and walked towards his door.

It wasn’t Shadowhunters waiting on the other side, though, but Simon´s blonde Mundane girl. She didn’t look good: Her normally immaculate hair was dishevelled, tears were running down her cheeks, smearing her make-up and turning her appearance akin to a Wailing Woman. But the most striking thing was the blood that was smeared all over her blouse and her hands.

“Brittany, are you hurt?” Magnus asked worriedly, taking the distraught girl by the hand and leading her inside.

“It isn´t mine,” Brittany snivelled. “The blood, it isn´t mine.”

“Then whose is it?” Magnus wanted to know, dread pooling in his stomach. Brittany looked at him, her blue eyes shining with tears and filled with fear.

“Raphael. It´s Raphael´s.”

“What happened?” Magnus asked while he ushered the girl in, closing the door behind her and activating his wards with a snap of his fingers.

“Vampire,” Brittany replied. “Raphael was kidnapped by a rouge vampire. We tracked him down, but by the time we got there, Raphael was already dying. But…Simon believes that he tried to turn Raphael, so we buried him.” She looked at him, panic shining in her eyes. “Simon wanted me to get you. You need to come.” Magnus cursed under his breath: When Simon had asked him for the tracking charm, he hadn’t thought that it was something serious. More likely than not, he had assumed that Raphael had just gotten cold feet and ditched Simon, but hearing that it had been a rouge vampire ( _‘The one you were supposed to capture,’_ a traitorous voice in his head whispered) made cold fear rush through his veins.

“Wait, wait,” he suddenly interrupted. “Simon stayed behind? Alone with a soon to be new-born vampire?”

“Yeah,” Brittany replied, her expression mirroring the confusion her mind must be in.

“No, no, no, no,” Magnus exclaimed. They needed to get to Simon as fast as possible, but as he had no mental imagine of where the boy was exactly he couldn’t just portal there. “We need to get to him.”

“My car´s standing outside,” Brittany offered.

“I´ll drive,” Magnus replied instantly, extending his open palm expectantly in which Brittany dropped her keys. “Alright, let´s get going.”

* * *

At the beginning, Simon had thought that waiting for Raphael to be reborn would be more – exciting? He guessed – but after the ten minutes mark had passed and still nothing had happened, boredom began to seep into his mind. It felt disrespectful, but he couldn’t help but feel it anyway.

“I shouldn’t be bored,” Simon began to speak, “I really shouldn’t, but I guess it´s something you can´t help but to feel, you know?” He paused, thinking about what he was going to say next. “I´m really, really sorry for all that has happened. I truly am. I just…I just thought that with me here, you´d never go after the vampire like you did in the original timeline. And to be honest, I also forgot. I was so caught up in the mundane life I had here that I allowed it to push back the fact that I don’t belong here. I never have. If the politics and the societal norms weren’t so shitty, I could even imagine staying here with you, but I´ve got my own war to fight in the future; I´ve got family and friends I need to return to.” He swallowed. “I don´t know when it´ll happen, but it´s going to be happen and when it does, it´ll break your heart and for that, too, I´m sorry. It´s just; I´m too weak to resist that small piece of happiness you offered and selfishly I took it with no thoughts as to what it would mean for both our futures. And yet, I can´t make myself regret it. I´d do it all over again.”

When Simon finished there was no thunder and lightning, no sudden light or orchestra that emphasised the prominence of his declaration, and yet he felt somehow lighter for it, as if admitting all those truths out aloud had lifted an invisible burden from his shoulders. But it had also strengthened his resolve to sit down with Raphael and talk to him after this whole ordeal was over. Raphael deserved the truth; he deserved to know everything so that he could make an informed decision. Simon wouldn’t rob him of that choice. It was the least he could do.

Simon was so absorbed in his musings that he didn’t notice when the earth over Raphael´s grave began to move, but when he did, he sprung up and walked to the edge of the green where he hovered, unsure if he should do something or just wait. The decision was taken out of his hand, though, when Raphael´s hand burst through the dirt and began to push aside the earth that still covered him.

In morbid fascination, Simon watched as Raphael slowly dug himself out of the ground until he was standing right in front of him. His skin was paler than before, something that made him more akin to the Raphael Simon knew from the future, but otherwise he didn’t look like he had just died, only the dirt on his skin and the dried blood on his clothes giving any indication as to what had occurred to him during the night.

“Raphael?” Simon spoke, hesitantly and unsure, because he didn’t know how much Raphael remembered or what events he could still recall.

“Simon?” Raphael spoke, his voice hoarse and dry. “Simon, what happened?”

“I´ll explain everything, I promise,” Simon assured the confused looking boy. “Just stay calm, please?”

“It burns, Simon,” Raphael wailed. “It burns! Why does it burn?”

“Alright, alright,” Simon tried to assuage him. “I´m here, Raph, I´m here. We´re gonna get you through this.” He took a few steps forward; an act which made Raphael´s head snap towards him, his fangs dropping and his eyes and veins black as the night.

“I can hear it beat,” Raphael murmured. “It smells so good, Simon, it burns and it smells so good.”

“Just take it easy,” Simon spoke, dread slowly creeping up on him. Why wasn’t Magnus here, already?

“I can´t, Simon,” Raphael cried. “It burns! I need it to stop! I need the burn to stop.” His form blurred and suddenly he stood in front of Simon; mouth wide open in a grotesque grimace, his face distorted by the insatiable hunger he was feeling.

“Raphael, please,” Simon whispered. For a split-second everything hung in balance. Time halted, the earth stopped in its course and on some abandoned parking lot in New York City Simon Lewis´ life hung on a thread so thin that even the smallest of sounds could make it snap. The black lines around Raphael´s eyes faded, his eyes turned back into that beautiful shade of brown that Simon had fallen in love with, but that moment barely lasted a single breath, before the darkness came back in full force and turned Raphael back into the monster.

“Raphael, please.” When the vampire´s fangs punctured his neck, Simon felt nothing at first. There was shock and denial _(‘This can´t be happening; please, don´t, please…’)_ , Simon´s brain too slow to catch up with what was happening to him, but when it did Simon nearly toppled over, only Raphael´s hard grip keeping him standing. He had read about the effects of a vampire´s bite – the euphoria, the pleasure, the pain – but experiencing it was a whole different matter than getting the information out of a book. Everything felt muted, his sorrows and grief fading away as if they had never existed in the first place. A small voice inside his head was screaming at him, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying as if every sound was muffled by cotton. Heat and pleasure was cursing through his body and he never wanted that glorious feeling to end. He could feel something hot – his blood – running down his throat, soaking his shirt, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t.

It felt like time had slowed down, as if he experienced everything in slow motion. He could see every crack in the asphalt, every blade of grass and every particle of dust floating in the air. And even though it was night every single colour was so saturated that Simon had the feeling that he was standing inside a kaleidoscope. His knees buckled and slowly he sank to the ground, Raphael following after, not letting go.

Darkness was creeping in on the edge of his vision, his sight blurring more and more.

“Raphael, please,” Simon begged, even though he didn’t know for what: for it to end? For it to continue? For the bliss to keep pumping through his veins? “Please.” But Raphael wouldn’t listen. Couldn’t listen, not really; caught in the bloodlust as he was. A tiredness set over Simon, starting from his fingers and toes, but slowly spreading throughout his whole body.

Simon looked for something – _anything_ – which he could use to detach Raphael from him, haphazardly grabbing around because there had to be something, but his fingers touched nothing but the cold grass. Until he could suddenly feel a cold, smooth surface underneath his fingertips. With his last strength, Simon shifted his head to look at the object. His eyes widened in surprise when he recognised the black orb that had started this whole series of events by taking him into the past.

“Please,” Simon whispered as the last bit of life seeped out of him. “Please.”

The orb stayed silent. And with one last shuddering breath, Simon Lewis departed from life, 53 years away from home.

* * *

  _One by love._

_One by family_

_One by friend._

_The first to bring you back._

_The second to cast you down._

_The last to set you free._

* * *

When Raphael came back to himself the first thing he noticed was how strong he felt. There was an energy thrumming underneath his skin that made him want to run and never stop, a clearness to his sight that he had never experienced before, a sharpness to the smells around him that until now he had never witnessed. It felt like he had been forged anew; better, stronger and faster than before.

The second thing he noticed was the blood. The metallic smell that hung in the air and drowned everything else out; the feeling of the warm liquid running down his chin and dripping on the ground, the wetness of his shirt, its whole front smeared red.

The last and final thing he noticed was Simon´s lifeless eyes staring at him, feint impression of fear and terror still visible in the brown orbs. If it wasn’t for the wound at his neck from which blood still oozed, one could believe that the boy was merely laying down, but the nature of the wound contradicted said observation. His skin was so pale, too white to be natural and yet he was still warm to Raphael´s touch _(maybe because Raphael felt so cold now?)_.

“Simon,” Raphael croaked out, sinking down to his knees and tugging at the other boy´s sleeve but he received no answer. “Simon.”

He pulled the boy closer, cradling him in his arms as if he wanted to protect him from the world when it was him from whom Simon had needed protection from. He pressed Simon´s head against his chest (where his heart was not beating; not anymore) and ran his hand through the other boy´s hair as if he was trying to sooth him. 

“I´m so sorry, I´m sorry, I´m sorry,” Raphael stammered. He tried to cry, to let his grief and hurt out, but the tears just wouldn’t come. “I´m sorry, I´m sorry…”

“Raphael?!” He whipped his head around, fangs instinctively bared at the sudden intruder, only to see Brittany and Simon´s uncle _(‘Magnus’_ , a voice in his head whispered) standing on the edge of the parking lot, slowly making their way towards him.

“Raphael!” He could hear their heartbeats, pumping delicious blood through their veins; could smell the fear rolling off Brittany in waves and feel the power that oozed from Simon´s uncle. His fangs dropped even further and his pupils widened in hunger.

Placing one last kiss on Simon´s forehead, Raphael put the boy down gently and stood up.

He couldn’t stay here. Mustn´t stay here. He couldn’t be allowed to harm another person.

So, Raphael ran.

And as his vampiric strength took him away, the black orb that Simon still clung to even in death ignited and, in a shower of golden dust, took the boy away, witnessed by no one but Brittany and Magnus. The colours in the sky vanished, the energies that had surged through the air suddenly abated and everything turned back as if nothing had happened.

It would take several decades until they would see Simon again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love ^^


	19. Arc II: Rückkehr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon finally arrives back in the present. He also meets an entity that may be time itself, but it also could have been a very vivid hallucination. Who knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had some free time on his hands and managed to write this chapter? It is I! Still, my internship is still on-going until Feb 28th, so don´t expect updates anytime soon *sobs desperately*

Time was never meant to be fathomed out by the human mind.

How could something so tiny, so feeble, so easily breakable as the human mind even try to categorise a force that transcended and encompassed the whole universe – even existence itself? What hubris possessed humanity when it tried to cut time into pieces – s _econds, minutes, hours_ – when the whole history of mankind itself was but a small speck of dust in the vast endlessness that time represented?

The answer to all of these question, of course, was that men above all tried to either destroy or subjugate what they did not know. You cannot destroy time _(time destroys you)_ , so by inventing all those units, names and theories you could at least claim that you understood time, that you figured it out and made it your subject.

But if you were honest – which humanity never is; not when it comes to the admission of its own weaknesses – you would know that you always have been and always will be a slave to the forces of time.

These were the thoughts of philosophers and professors, articulated in dusty leather tomes or between champagne and shrimps at a posh gala hosted by various science associates of varying importance. Men would nod in silent agreement, woman would titter and laugh, but all would be forgotten soon after.

It wasn’t really the kind of thoughts Simon thought he would have while just having died. To be honest, though, he had never really contemplated what kind of thoughts you should have while you were dying. Probably something religious – asking for forgiveness – or maybe regret? Definitely not the inner workings of time.

But he wasn’t really dying, anyway, was he? He had felt his heart come to a stop; had felt the coldness slowly creeping up from his legs until it had coiled itself around his heart like a snake. But despite all of this Simon was pretty sure he wasn’t actually dead.

He was surrounded by darkness. Darkness and the same threads of golden lights that had brought him back into the past once very long ago. And even though there was no up and down, no right or left, he was on some kind of surface amidst this sea of blackness.

Simon looked down on his hands and could see that they were still covered in blood. Under the golden light it appeared to be black, only reflecting the golden sparks around him, but Simon knew that it was meant to be red like Snow White’s lips. His shirt was soaked as well, but he couldn’t feel the wetness on his skin.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and touched the side of his neck where…where Raphael had bitten him. The blood was no longer seeping out of the wound, his life no longer flowing out of him like he had been an animal led to its slaughter.

Distantly, Simon wondered how much trauma he would receive from apparently having survived his own death. How broken he would be.

Wherever – or _whenever_ – he was obviously didn’t care about the laws of physics or biology that said that a human that had lost as much blood as Simon was supposed to die from the lack of oxygen being delivered to its brain. As he looked down on his blood-soaked appearance the liquid itself began to flow upwards, back to the wound it had come from. As if someone was rewinding Simon, drop by drop all of the blood crept up his neck until it vanished underneath his skin. It was barely a few seconds, but watching it, Simon felt as if an eternity had passed.

Awestruck, he slowly touched his neck again, only that this time there was no wound oozing blood there. Just unblemished skin.

“You would have died the moment you left the Outside if it hadn’t healed you.” Yelping in surprise, Simon turned around to face whoever was talking to him.

“Tessa?” he exclaimed in surprise as he recognised the woman to whom Magnus had taken him to shortly after he had arrived in the past. Tessa just tilted her head, regarding him with a mix of mild curiosity and fondness – like you would regard a pet that had just done something you could be proud of.

“No, not really,” she replied. “Tessa Gray may be a powerful individual, but not enough to enter the Outside.”

“Who are you then?” Simon asked, barely able to keep the trepidation from making his hands shake like leaves. “And what is the ‘Outside’?”

“I do not possess a name,” the Tessa-lookalike answered. “Name restrict, label, categorise. I cannot be labelled nor can I be restricted; therefore I have no name.” She smiled at Simon. “And to answer your second question: The Outside is the place we are currently in, apart from time and space itself.”

“But why am I here?” Simon wanted to know.

“I do not care,” the Nameless One admitted. “My daughters saw it fit to play with your destiny. I merely came here to sate my curiosity.” She tilted her head. “I find you to be utterly unremarkable, like the rest of your race. Now, be gone!”

She turned around and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Simon called after her. “What do you mean? Who are your daughters?” The Nameless One laughed, a clear and pure sound that no human would ever be able to recreate.

“They have many names,” she replied. “But you know them as Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.” And then she was gone and with her she took the golden light so that Simon was left behind in nothing but darkness.

“Wait!” Simon screamed. “You can´t leave me here!” But no matter where he turned to, there was nothing but vast emptiness awaiting him. Never, not in a single moment in his life, had Simon felt as afraid as he was now. Surrounded by nothingness, with no way out, he imagined himself a fate worse than what the deepest pits of Tartarus could provide: Wandering around in this darkness for all eternity, with no sense of time, place or self until his mind would shatter like a mirror.

But just when he thought he couldn’t breathe anymore _(what was he breathing, anyway?)_ , shapes began to form from the darkness. Barely recognisable at first, only smoke whirling around in undefinable patterns, they rose from the ground and began to solidify. At first Simon didn’t recognise what the scenery that was created in front of him was supposed to be, but the longer he watched on the more he realised what it was: A street of houses he knew very well.

The people were the last thing that appeared from the darkness. They stood on the street, frozen in whatever action they had been in – talking, laughing, walking – as if someone had pressed pause on time. Simon saw a child frozen mid-leap, a bird floating in the air as if it had been hung there on ropes, a butterfly about to land on the outstretched hand of an old woman who looked at the insect as if it was the purest thing she had ever seen in the world.

Carefully, Simon moved around the scenery, afraid that anything he touched would shatter underneath his touch. Was this even real or was it just something his mind had made up to protect itself from the emptiness all around him? He desperately clung to the belief that it was real, because he didn’t know if he could survive all this being just an illusion. He needed this to be real.

And just as this thought crossed his mind, the last parts of the heaven above were filled with blue and time itself resumed. Suddenly hundreds of different noises filled the air around Simon: The laughing and chatting of people around him, the tick tack of shoes on the sidewalk, the buzzing of car engines around him.

“Watch where you´re going!” an incensed woman hissed at him after she had nearly walked into Simon, who was just standing there on the sidewalk, taking everything around him in as if it was the first time he had seen it.

“Sorry,” Simon mumbled, but inwardly he could barely hold the joy at bay that he was currently feeling. He was back! Back in his time, back in his New York, back with the friends he had left behind. He could weep with joy, but Simon was able to hold himself together long enough to realise that he should definitely reach out to Magnus in order to let him know that he was back from the past.

It wasn’t far from the street where Simon had been dropped off (thanks nameless entity, he guessed), but still, walking through the streets now after weeks in 1953 felt like a dream too good to be true. Everywhere he looked Simon saw things he was familiar with; things he knew: Billboards advertising Dr. Strange, Starbucks on every corner, people with their headphones in and their gazes on their smartphones. It was so different from the past, but yet so achingly familiar that Simon wondered how he could have nearly forgotten the feeling of it during his stay in the past.

He was so caught in his new – or old – surroundings that he barely noticed that his feet had brought him directly to the doorstep of Magnus’ apartment building, his whole body on autopilot. Taking a deep breath, Simon took the few steps leading up to Magnus’ door and walked into the apartment building. Magnus lived on the last floor and the nearer Simon got his door the more apprehension he felt: He had been gone for a very long time, after all, and didn’t know what had happened since then.

So, there he was, standing in front of Magnus’ door, his right hand balled into a fist, hovering above the dark wood, unsure as to what to do. In the end Simon´s hesitation was pointless, though, for the door opened without him having to knock, revealing a dumbstruck Magnus standing behind it.

“Heyah Magnus,” Simon said, waving weakly with his right hand still balled into a fist. “Guess who´s back?” Magnus snorted.

“Of course, you´d be anticlimactic like that,” he said. With that the ice between them was broken and Simon couldn’t hold himself back anymore. With much more strength than his body should actually possess, he threw himself at Magnus and embraced the Warlock.

Magnus smelled like home: like incense, herbs and smoke; potions, dust and earth; a mixture that Simon didn’t know he had missed so much until now. The Magnus in 1953 had been understanding, kind and compassionate to Simon´s blight, but he hadn’t been the Magnus Simon knew and now that Simon finally had _his_ Magnus back he couldn’t hold it together anymore.

Tears started flowing down his cheeks while he clung to Magnus as if the Warlock could vanish any moment – which given the life he lived could be a very real possibility. The last few hours _(days, maybe even weeks; Simon didn’t know how much time he had spent in the Outside)_ had been horrible and traumatising beyond compare and so he clung even harder to Magnus and the feeling of safety he provided.

“It´s alright,” Magnus whispered to him as he rubbed Simon´s back like you would an upset child (which Simon was compared to Magnus). “You´re back now and you won´t be going anywhere else.” Simone believed him. He believed him because it was Magnus; because he needed to believe it in order to function.

Somehow, Magnus managed to close the door to his apartment and manoeuvre them into the living room where he carefully sat Simon down on one of the couches while he took place on a chair opposite of him.

“Do you want some tea?” Magnus asked.

“You know I hate tea,” Simon replied, his usual answer to the query whenever Magnus asked it. The Magnus from 1953 had never offered him tea.

Magnus just smiled at him.

“I´m so glad you´re back,” he told Simon, his voice full of honesty. “It was quite difficult for us: All those conflicting memories; knowing you were in the past, but not actually having you here with us. I´m glad it´s over now.”

“Me, too,” Simon admitted. “It must have been difficult for your past self, though; me vanishing like that.”

“It was,” Magnus sighed. “I felt responsible, even though I was the only one who knew where you originally came from. I could take solace in that, but it was more difficult for the others.” A painful twinge shot through Simon´s heart at the mention of the other people he had left behind. The euphoria of finally being back had completely drowned out every other negative feeling, especially towards the past. But now as he was sitting in Magnus’ apartment, the comfortable atmosphere of home surrounding him, he was forced to wonder how the others had taken his sudden disappearance.

But it wasn’t only remorse he felt. There was also fear.

“I can´t see him,” Simon whispered, but he was sure that Magnus could hear him. “Not now. Not after what happened.”

“He missed you.”

“I…I can´t,” Simon stammered. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Raphael´s ravenous eyes, blackened by his newly awakened hunger, his whole face distorted into a grimace of greed. He could still feel the phantom pain of Raphael´s fangs piercing through his skin; could still feel the faint echoes of the pleasure cursing through his veins. “I need to get myself together first, before I try to piece us together.”

What do you even say to the person who killed you? To the person that had over sixty years to get over you while it had only been a few hours for yourself? How did you make sure that your feelings were still the same; that they were reciprocated?

Simon knew that he could get over what had happened. Raphael hadn’t been himself, had just been freshly turned – because of a decision Simon had made – so it wasn’t his fault and Simon had no right to blame him. But what if Raphael blamed him? Simon just needed a little bit of time for the traumatising memories to fade and the feelings to numb, but what if Raphael didn’t want anything to do with him, for what Simon had done to him?

“He doesn’t blame you,” Magnus interrupted his train of thought as if he knew what Simon had been thinking.

“How do you know?” Simon demanded to know.

“I´ve been with him for the last sixty-odd years,” Magnus replied. “So you can believe me when I tell you this.” Simon desperately wanted to, but something held him back. Maybe this was something he needed to do for himself not on the words of others, even if said others were Magnus.

“Still, I need a little bit of time before I face him,” he finally said. “I think it´s better.”

“For you or for him?” Magnus asked. A simple question, yet it felt like an accusation nevertheless. Simon didn’t have an answer to it.

“What happened while I was gone?” he asked instead and thankfully Magnus didn’t push further. Simon didn’t know if he could have handled it. “What did you tell my Mom and Rebecca?”

“I told them that you were in some kind of musical camp in Connecticut,” Magnus told him. “They believed it and are none the wiser that you have been time travelling instead.”

“Thanks.” Simon didn’t know what he would have done if he had to explain to his family where he had been. His gratitude towards Magnus couldn’t be properly expressed in words, but he hoped that his expression conveyed enough of it to the Warlock.

“Also, we are finally in possession of the Mortal Cup,” Magnus added as if it was just another juicy bite of gossip.

“What?” Simon exclaimed in disbelief. “How did that happen?”

“Jocelyn hid the damn thing in one of her Tarot cards,” Magnus explained. “It´s a long story, but in the we had it all along and Clary just needed to pull it out.” Simon shook his head in astonishment. One of the most powerful relicts this world had to offer and it had been under their noses the whole damn time. Jocelyn really did pull one over all of them. Yet, Simon couldn’t help but shudder when he thought about who else could have gotten the Cup, even only by chance, while the only person who would have known was God knows where.

“You still don’t know where Jocelyn is?” Simon asked.

“No,” Magnus shook his head. “We´ve got some promising leads, but nothing has worked out so far.”

“And Clary?” Simon asked. “How´s she doing?” He couldn’t help but feel bad for the fight they had had before he had gotten himself transported to the past. In hindsight, it had been stupid and insignificant and he wanted nothing but to put all of it behind them and get back to the old Simon and Clary, especially now when it had become all too clear how fragile and precious all of it was.  

“I must admit that I don’t know,” Magnus confessed. “She is friendly with Jace and Isabelle, but otherwise she confides in no one. She appears to be fine, but we all know that outward appearances are deceiving.” Simon knew that all too well.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“I think she´s currently staying at the Institute,” Magnus replied. “Everything else would be too unsafe for her.” Simon grimaced: He really didn’t want to go to the Institute, but if Clary was there, then he just had to suck it up.

“Does she know about Valentine?” he wanted to know. “That he´s her father?”

“She does,” Magnus replied, “as does the rest of the Shadowhunters. But how did you know?”

“There were some hints when all of this mess started,” Simon told the Warlock. “I just put them together.” Magnus just nodded and accepted his explanation.

“So,” Simon drawled, with a wide grin, “how are things between you and ‘Alexander’?” Magnus, incapable of actually feeling shame, just grinned back at him.

“He´s slowly thawing,” he replied. “I´m pretty sure that by the end of this whole Valentine mess I have him free of all that repressed Clave homophobia he has internalised.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Simon remarked.

“Well,” Magnus spoke with a fond look on his face, “Alexander´s definitely worth it.”

“Then I´m happy for you,” Simon said. After a short moment of silence he asked: “Can you portal me to the Institute?”

“Too lazy to take the subway?” Magnus teased. Simon just stuck his tongue at the Warlock.

“Why should I when I have a perfectly capable Warlock at my disposal?” he retorted.

“Touché.”

* * *

The Institute hadn’t changed. Not that Simon had expected it to, not when it had probably stood at the same place ever since the founding of New York. It was still tall and looming and the Shadowhunters who stood guard where the same as the first time Simon had come here.

There was more activity, though. When all of their adventures had started the Institute had barely contained a skeleton crew consisting of a bunch of teenagers, a banished Circle member and a few Shadowhunters who had probably been sent here on probation. Now, wherever Simon looked he saw imposing and very, very skilled looking Shadowhunters in full gear walking around while analysts balancing stacks of tablets and papers on their arms tried to weave their way through the busy crowd.

The atmosphere had changed, as well. There was a certain buzz in the air, a sense of urgency that hadn’t been there the first time Simon had set foot on the premise. Guess that was what happened when you learned that your archenemy wasn’t as dead as you thought.

“Magnus!” Isabelle was walking towards them, looking simultaneously gorgeous and dangerous, the epitome of femme fatale. When she saw Simon her smile brightened (Simon couldn’t really fathom why; after all they barely knew each other). “I see you got our time traveller back.”

“Happy to be back,” Simon replied, giving her a lazy wave.

“Are you here for Clary?” Isabelle asked. Simon just nodded. “Then I´ll take you to her. Magnus, Alec wanted to talk to you about setting up a rapid alert system for magical incidents. I didn’t get half of what he was saying, so you better get to him.” Magnus nodded and then he was already vanishing in the crowd while Isabelle turned around and led Simon towards one of the hallways that led away from the command centre.

“It´s good that you´re back,” she told Simon while they made their way upstairs. “Clary…I don´t know her, but after the whole alternate universe incident she seemed kinda off.”

“What happened?” Simon asked, his voice full of worry. Isabelle hesitated.

“I think that´s something she should tell you herself,” she finally replied. They walked the rest of the way through the hallway in silence until they stood in front of the door that seemed to lead to Clary´s room.

“Wish you the best of luck,” Isabelle told him and then she had already turned around and was striding back to the main hall.

Taking a deep breath, Simon knocked at the wooden door.

“Come in!” was Clary´s muffled reply from within. Simon opened and entered the room. It didn’t look like much; impersonal was the right word. A bed, a nightstand, a cupboard and nothing more. Maybe Clary didn’t have the time yet to personalise it – or maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe for her making this place her home was abandoning the home she had had with her mother.

Clary herself was sitting on the bed, starring out of the window onto the city. When Simon entered the room, she turned around. Her eyes widened in surprise and her jaw dropped as if she couldn’t really believe that Simon was truly here, standing in her room.

“Simon?” She spoke carefully as if she was afraid that Simon would vanish at any given moment.

“Oh, Clary, what did you do to your hair?” That was all Simon managed to speak before Clary threw himself at him and hugged him like her life depended on it. Simon responding by clutching his best friend to his chest, nuzzling into Clary´s red hair that had been reduced to a mess but still smelled like Simon remembered: Cinnamon, citrus and charcoal.

“You´re back,” Clary whispered, clasping the fabric of his shirt.

“I am,” Simon confirmed. “And I have no plan of leaving anytime soon.”

“I sure as hell hope you don´t,” Clary muttered. She finally let go of Simon and took a few steps back, eyeing him up. Only now Simon noticed that he was still wearing the same clothes as he had when he had been in 1953.

“Well, that´s certainly a new style,” Clary commented. “It fits you, though.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Simon replied. They sat down on Clary´s bed so that they could gaze out of the window. Clary rested her head on Simon´s shoulder, a familiar and soothing gesture.

“What happened?” Simon finally dared to ask.

“Everything and nothing,” Clary replied. “Too much to tell you all at once.”

“Magnus told me about the Mortal Cup,” Simon told her. “And about Valentine being your father.”

“It would´ve been too much to ask that you wouldn’t know,” Clary sighed.

“Honestly, I don’t care,” Simon replied. “Your parentage doesn’t change who you are. Only you get to decide that. I like the Clary I know and knowing who your father is doesn’t change my feelings towards you.”

“It means much to me,” Clary admitted. “I feel like I need to walk on eggshells around here. That one single wrong move could turn everyone here against me. It´s so goddamn tiring and every time someone new arrives and does nothing but stare at me I just want to scream at them until they look away.”

“That sucks,” Simon remarked. “But it´ll fade away, I´m sure. In a few days – weeks top – no one will care anymore.”

“You really believe that?” Clary asked.

“Sure,” Simon assured her. “Do you remember fourth grade when I accidently farted during class?” Clary just snorted. “I thought I needed to move to the other side of the country but a few days later Alysha puked on her maths test and everybody forgot about my little mishap.”

“There´s a difference between fourth grade shenanigans and your father being an evil mastermind,” Clary pointed out.

“It´s the same,” Simon claimed. “Just on a different scale.”

“I take your wise counsel on it,” Clary joked light-heartedly.

“So, what happened with your hair?” Simon asked. In an instant, the smile vanished from Clary´s face and was replaced by a frown.

“I don´t want to talk about it,” she whispered.

“And I can accept that,” Simon replied. “But it´s obviously something that´s weighting you down, so if you want to get it off our chest, then know that I´ll be there.” He didn’t add anything else. For a few minutes they did nothing but sitting on the edge of the bed, staring through the window. Simon could feel Clary´s warmth at this side, her slow breaths and wondered when they had last sat together like this.

Probably before her birthday. Before Pandemonium and everything that followed afterwards. It was nice. Calm and unassuming.

“Do you know that there are other universes out there?” Clary finally asked. “Alternate dimensions?”

“I always wondered,” Simon admitted.

“Well, I found out when a Clary from another world came here and took over my body,” Clary spoke. “She was just passing through on her way to her Valentine and needed my body for it. I…I never felt so helpless as I did in the few hours she was in my head. I got a look at her memories; she looks just like me, so innocent, pure and frail with her long, red hair. I needed it gone. Just so that I wasn’t like her, so that I would have something that was only me, that I didn’t share with her.” By now tears were slowly running down his best friend´s cheeks. “I just want to be me.”

“Oh Clary, I´m so sorry,” Simon tried to console her. He hugged her tighter as she cried onto his shoulder. “I´m sorry that this happened to you. I´m sorry that I wasn’t there to help you. I´m sorry that you had to find out about the Shadow World like this. I´m sorry that I never trusted you with my secrets. I´m sorry.”

“I´m sorry, too,” Clary hiccupped. “I´m sorry that I blew you off instead of listening to you. I´m sorry that I was so selfish. I´m sorry that I made it all about me instead of thinking about your reasons.”

“I guess that´s even more the reason to do it better in the future,” Simon replied.

“I guess,” Clary sniffed. “I´m glad you´re back, Simon.”

“Me, too,” he spoke. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


	20. Arc II: Kuss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There´s some serious talking and soul-searching. And **a kiss!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn´t go to work last week (still had some vacation saved up), so I did not only write a whole 10k HTGAWM/Suits crosover but also this chapter ^^ evil as I am, though, I´m leaving you with a cliffhanger *mad cackling* 
> 
> Also....over 1000 Kudos and 90k words?!? Wow, I´m so thrilled! 
> 
> Also Pt. 2: I´ve watched "The Greatest Showman" twice already and been listening to nothing but the soundtrack for days. Honestly, I can´t remember the last time a movie managed to make me feel like this. Cinematically, 2018 is already over, every other movie can pack its bags and go lol (and yeah, that´s a statement I put out knowing what is still to come (looking at you Marvel))

Simon didn’t want to leave Clary´s room and face the world that laid behind its heavy oak door. He wanted to stay in his best friend´s embrace, take in the familiar smell of paper, crayon and strawberries and never let go. Clary had always managed to make him feel safe and secure, even that one time when they had first taken the subway without paternal supervision and had landed in the northern Bronx instead of Brooklyn.

But he knew that the world would not wait for anyone. Not for the Shadowhunters, the Downworlders and the war they were embroiled in and certainly not for him. So, he took one last breath and untangled himself from Clary.

“What happens now?” Clary asked, her voice sounding as unsure as he was feeling.

“I don’t know,” Simon replied. “We need to find your mother. And we need to keep the Mortal Cup out of Valentine´s hands.” Clary nodded silently. They both knew what Simon was too afraid to speak out loud: The Cup would never be save as long as Valentine was out there, free to plan and manipulate. Keeping the Cup safe would mean capturing ( _Or killing,_ a vindictive voice in his head spoke) Valentine, because otherwise it would sooner or later fall into the madman´s hands.

It was so unfair, Simon thought to himself. They were barely adults, had barely found their place in the world and now the task of defending an entire world fell to them just because those responsible were willingly turning a blind eye to the threat all of them were facing.

It shouldn’t be their task, but neither could they just turn around and walk away. They were too deep into it, too entangled in centuries of bad blood and prejudice that was now boiling over again. Simon would stay, as would Clary and they would fight.

“I honestly have no idea how we´re gonna do that,” Clary admitted.

“Neither have I,” Simon told her. “I just hope some hint is miraculously dropped in our lap or something, because I have no idea how we should go about finding your mother.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She could be literally everywhere.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement,” Clary replied drily. Simon just shrugged. “You haven’t told me what happened in the past, though?” She kicked off her shoes and laid herself on the bed, as if they were about to tell themselves stories like they had during their various sleepovers. “You can´t tell me that nothing interesting occurred, can you?”

“I´ll have you know that I attended High School,” Simon retorted. Clary gaped at him.

“No!” she exclaimed. “You´re kidding me, aren’t you? That´s not time travel, that´s hell.”

“Hear, hear,” Simon agreed with her. He let himself fall down next to her on the bed and turned his head towards hers. “Honestly, it hasn’t changed that much in the decades since. A little less racism and class warfare, but otherwise? Totally the same. Even the cafeteria food was terrible…OW!” Clary had hit him straight in the face with one the many pillows that were strewn all over the bed.

“Simon, don’t expect me to fall for that,” Clary admonished him. “I know all of your tactics: You´re trying to use funny but useless stuff to distract me from what´s actually important.”

“Indeed, you know me too well,” Simon smiled, but then his smile faded as he thought about all the things he didn’t really want to tell Clary because he didn’t want to deal with them himself.

“What happened?” Clary asked, worry tinting her voice. Simon closed his eyes as the raw emotions overcame him, as if he was living through them again. When he opened them again, he couldn’t hold back the few tears that were flowing down his cheeks.

“I fell in love,” he admitted. “And I think I may have lost him.”

And then, as if a damn had burst, everything flooded out of Simon: How he had found himself in the past with familiar faces behind which unfamiliar souls lived, how everyday felt like walking on tightrope with Magnus being the only person he could trust – but not completely because it still wasn’t _his_ Magnus. How he had walked the hallways of a way too posh High School and felt like a ghost amidst the people, a foreigner in a country that was no longer his own. And then how he had found friendship with Brittany and Raphael, and even more with the latter. How everything seemed to have come together only to unravel in front of his eyes; the blood, the fear, the grief and the pain; living through his own death and leaving behind everyone without a single word of farewell spoken.

How he was so afraid to seek out Raphael because he didn’t know what he could expect. Because he feared what awaited him. Accusation, forgiveness or even worse cold apathy. Simon didn’t know what would be worse.

“Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up,” Simon confessed to Clary who had not interrupted him, not even once, during his tale. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much and not destruct.”

“But Simon, what do you think would be worse?” Clary asked. “The uncertainty of not knowing or the finality of having your answers?” She looked at him, her gaze full of seriousness. “I think you´ll be worse off if you allow it to fester. Rip it off like a band aid. Besides, you´ll have to face him sooner or later, so why not do it on your terms?”

“Intellectually I know that you´re right,” Simon agreed. “But knowing something and feeling something are two different pairs of shoes.”

“Imagine, though, how he must feel,” Clary remarked. “It´s been just a few hours for you while it´s been years – decades, even – for him. Just envision yourself with the pain you´re feeling now in your heart for such a long time. Maybe it faded away or maybe it fed on itself.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I´m on your side, Simon, you know that, but I really think that you need to do that now not in some vague future. With the live we´re now living you can´t even know how long that´s gonna be.”

Simon knew that Clary was right. He shouldn’t put his talk with Raphael off, because their future was uncertain. He should create facts not uncertainties, but it sounded so much easier than it actually was.

“I regret it, you know?” Clary continued.

“What do you regret?” Simon wanted to know, confused by the sudden turn.

“That I didn’t tell my mother that I loved her before we went to Pandemonium,” Clary replied, her voice thick with emotions. “She told me to not drink too much and to stick to you. I just laughed at her and walked away. Just my mom being overprotective, I thought.” She swallowed. “I should have told her that I loved her. That she´s the most important person in the world to me. I should have told her so much, but I didn’t because I thought she´d always be there.” The first tears were streaming down her face. “And now I don’t even know if I´ll ever see her again.”

“You will,” Simon assured her as he engulfed his friend in a fierce hug. He could feel Clary sob against his chest as he ran soothing circles over her back with his right hand. “We´ll find your mother and you can tell her all of this.”

“Don´t make my mistake.” Clary leaned back and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Go to Raphael.”

And really, what choice did Simon even have?

* * *

“You really put much though into this, didn’t you?” Magnus asked as he took in the schematics of the rapid alert system Alec had developed. He let his gaze wander over the holograms that depictured Manhattan and the surrounding areas, the runes and formulas that needed to be deployed at certain junctures and the calculation for the energy wards that would keep all of it running.

“Yeah, it definitely kept me up for the last few nights,” Alec admitted. He didn’t know why (didn’t really want to find out, because ignorance was a bliss) but somehow he really wanted Magnus’ approval before this whole scheme was moved forward. Because it would be something he had done on his own merit instead of relying on his family´s name. And Magnus was the only one who could understand.

Alec was realistic, not naïve. He knew that he was talented and had the abilities to become a successful Shadowhunter. He was secure in the knowledge that his arrows would always find their aims and that his mind could analyse every threat and develop countermeasures faster than anyone else. But he was also aware that he and his abilities didn’t exist in a vacuum. The people around him saw him as a Lightwood and even though their name had been disgraced by his parent´s action, it still meant something to the Shadowhunters. Their name may be tainted, but no one doubted the prowess that the Lightwood blood contained.

Alec had never needed to prove himself as much as Shadowhunters of lesser families had, because people saw no reason to question the Lightwoods. And maybe that was why it was so important to him that Magnus would approve of his plan. Because Magnus didn’t care for the Lightwood name, but just for Alec and his abilities. And that was something Alec had always sought but never found except from his siblings.

“So that´s what keeps you up at night,” the Warlock grinned and Alec couldn’t help but feel the blush rising to his cheeks. No one – not even Jace – had ever managed to get such a reaction from him.

“I must say that it is quite impressive,” Magus continued. “There are a few calculation errors, but that´s only because you don’t have the experience of a magic user. It could work.”

“It´s meant to detect large spikes in magic use,” Alec iterated. Unwinding already known facts was easier than dealing with the warm feeling that Magnus’ compliment had caused to churn in his stomach. “Because they usually mean something bad is about to happen. It can be finetuned, though, to other kinds of magical uses.”

“You are aware, though, of its implications?” Magnus wanted to know. “With a few tweaks your construct could be used to monitor every Downworlder in New York. Less upstanding members of the Clave would probably even want that instead of the warning system you envisioned.”

“I have thought about that,” Alec admitted. It had hurt to contemplate the corruption and bigotry that was so inherent to the organisation he was sworn to defend, but it had to be done. Alec believed in the ideals of the Clave, not what it had become. “That´s why I want it to be keyed to you.”

Magnus eyes widened.

“You´re the High Warlock of Brooklyn, so magic use falls under your purview, anyway,” Alec rushed to explain. “And I might not know you for that long, but you aren’t the person to abuse such power. The Downworlders don´t need us Shadowhunters meddling in their affairs even more than we already are, so if you help me get this thing of, then it´d be yours to overview.”

Magnus looked at him with an expression that Alec couldn’t really decipher. He felt exposed and raw under the Warlock´s gaze, as if Magnus laid bare his soul, but Alec couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – avert his gaze. This felt like a pivotal moment he shouldn’t shrink away from.

“You´re different than I´d expected, Alexander.” His name on Magnus’ lips forced a shiver to run down his spine. “You have a bright soul to go with that brilliant mind of yours.” While he spoke, he stepped closer and closer towards Alec, who didn’t move even a centimetre. A tiny voice in his head screamed at Alec to disrupt whatever was happening, but the blood rushing in his veins drowned it out.

There were only a few centimetres left between their faces. Alec could see the yellow and green mingling in his eyes, could make out the fine particles of make-up around Warlock´s eyes, could follow every single line of the other man´s face. The moment felt charged with electricity, full and heavy, like a storm about to come crashing down on them.

“I…I…”

“What is it, Alexander?” Alec shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t desire the Warlock´s lisp on his, shouldn’t yearn for his finger tips to touch his skin, shouldn’t crave his very soul being set alight by whatever was between them. He had witnessed how Shadowhunters who preferred to love their own gender were treated. Had taken to heart the teaching of the Clave that his second most important duty was to sire the generation of future Shadowhunters to take up their fight, but all of it became unimportant, faded into the yellow and green of Magnus’ eyes that stared at him like they wanted to raise him up higher than anyone had ever before.

“I think…”

“Don´t think,” Magnus shushed him. “Just feel.” And then his lips where on Alec´s.

Alec didn’t know what he had expected; after all, he had never kissed someone before. Only at night, alone in his room with his shame, he had allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to have not the tender and delicate lips of a woman pressed against his lips, but the gruff lips of a man; feel the stubble scratch over his skin. At first those men had been faceless figures until they had turned into Jace which had only amplified his shame and disgust.

Kissing Magnus was nothing like his imagination. Alec had never imagined the heat that would coil in his stomach; had never imagined how the time would seem to stop around them; had never imagined every hair on his body standing up as electricity cursed through his veins. He had never imagined the other to clasp his cheeks with his hands so tenderly as if he was grasping something so delicate that it could burst under every touch. He had never imagined the taste of smoke, herbs and something that he imagined magic tasted like – ever changing, never settling – on his tongue while he stopped breathing. He had never imagined his desire for this to never stop, to continue endlessly so that he could keep on floating, flying, soaring.

Alec hand never imagined the disappointment when they had to let go of each other, faces flushed and gasping for air.

He had never imagined this lack of shame after the deed.

He had never dared to imagine something as pure and good as this kiss.

Still overwhelmed by what had just transpired, neither of them spoke a single word, allowing a comfortable silence to settle over them. Alec knew that he should feel regret or something similar – he had needlessly complicated his life so much more with this single act. He could just imagine the cold disappointment of his parents, the silent shame and the sneers and taunts of his fellow Shadowhunters.

But honestly? He just didn’t care.

Maybe he should. But he didn’t.

He opened his mouth to say something, but right in this moment someone knocked at the door.

* * *

When Simon opened the door to the room where Isabelle had said he would find Magnus, he instantly knew that something had happened: Magnus stood way too close to Alec, tried way too hard to appear casual and unfazed while Alec was simultaneously blushing and staring at Simon as if he wanted to set him aflame with just the power of his will.

Simon couldn’t help the grin that spread over his whole face.

The next moment he was shoved against the wall by a furious looking Alec.

“Not a single word to anyone, do you understand?” the Shadowhunter hissed at him.

“Relax,” Simon tried to calm him down, lifting his hands in surrender. “I know what it´s like, I can relate to what you´re going through. And I´d never out anyone against their will.” He added the last bit with conviction, lifting his chin in defiance. “So, take whatever time you need and tell or don’t tell whoever you want. I definitely won´t tell anyone.”

“You can trust him,” Magnus added, putting his hand on Alec´s shoulder. The Shadowhunter let out a shaky breath but then let go of Simon who didn’t expect it and unceremoniously sagged to the ground.

“Man, you really have a death grip, don’t you?” he remarked, rubbing his aching shoulders.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Magnus inquired.

“I needed to talk to you,” Simon replied. “Privately,” he added.

“I need to talk to Izzy, anyway,” Alec spoke, thankfully getting Simon´s hint. He looked at Magnus one least time, then he turned around and left the room.

“So, you finally managed to thaw the archer´s heart?” Simon asked, waggling his eyebrows at the Warlock while he lifted himself up from the ground.

“I did, didn’t I?” Magnus replied, looking happier than Simon had seen him in a long time.

“Well, congratulations are in order then,” he remarked. “I´m totally behind you guys, you know? So, if anyone comes with some conservative homophobia bullshit I´m gonna be the first one to pummel them into the ground, like literally. I´m a hundred percent Malec guy…” He was cut off by Magnus slamming his hand over his mouth.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but please stop talking.” Simon, momentarily bereft of his ability to talk, just nodded. “How can I help you, Simon?” He removed his hand from his mouth.

That question managed to make Simon sober up instantly.

“I need to talk to Raphael,” he told Magnus. “And seeing that I have no way of contacting him and can´t just walk up and knock at the Dumort and ask for him, I thought I´d go to you.”

“So, you have decided to no longer evade him?” Magnus asked.

“I talked with Clary and she gave me some perspective,” he answered, shifting on his feet. “So, can you contact him?”

“I can.”

* * *

Watching Camille and his fellow vampire lounge in the lobby of the former hotel Dumort was a special brand of torture, at least Raphael thought so. They all tried to appear sensual and sophisticated as they draped themselves over the couches and the ottomans, sipping blood from golden framed crystal cups.

It was like watching pigs dress up as nobility, a futile and pathetic endeavour.

The only one who even managed to pull it off was Camille, but maybe that was only because she was the only one amongst them who really embodied power and danger. The only one to whom you looked upon and felt a shiver run down your spine, not knowing if it was from fear or lust. Compared to her silent ruthlessness, the others appeared like children who hadn’t even learned how to walk properly, ungainly and awkward in their movements.

“Raphael,” Camille purred and everyone looked up at him, standing on the grandiose stairwell that dominated Dumort´s lobby. “Why don’t you come down and join us?” She threw her head back and sighed as is she had exerted herself tremendously. It was all smoke and mirrors with her; nothing real, nothing of substance.

“Thanks, but I´ll pass,” Raphael replied evenly. Camille narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t comment any further. For all her cunning and intelligence Raphael could never fathom why she was trusting him with keeping her up to date with the whole Valentine situation. He may be the closest to the current players, but of all the vampires he was the least loyal to her. He hadn’t told her about the Mortal Cup, after all, and had only alluded to Valentine´s off-spring finally resurfacing.

“Pity,” another vampire commented. Raphael just sneered at him. Before he could add anything, though, he could feel his mobile ringing in his pocket. Using his vampire speed, he ran up to his room and locked the door behind him.

Recognising Magnus’ number on the screen, he accepted the call.

“What is it?”

“Simon´s back. And he wants to talk to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


	21. Arc II: Vergebung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I won´t go away,” Simon stated. “I´ve done enough time travelling for a life time. You´re saddled with me now.”_
> 
> _Raphael laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You´ve been thirsting for it ever since the first chapter and here it finally is ^0^ Simon and Raphael´s long awaited reunion, this time without Cliffhangers (TM). Just pure happiness <3

It was amazing how much time could pass and yet some things didn’t seem to change.

Central Park was one such a thing. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the same as it had been during Simon´s short visit in the 50ies, but if it wasn’t for the group of teenagers on the other side of the lake with their ghetto blaster or the women jogging by in modern day sport attire he could just imagine being back.

The ducks were still here, too. Not Humphrey, though, he was long dead by now, but maybe those where his descendants. Maybe the duck had found himself a nice hen and founded a family of dozens of quacking children that demanded to be fed by the walkers. Maybe he had become a rich entrepreneur and had built himself a Money Bin somewhere.

Probably not, but Simon could dream, couldn’t he?

The sun was slowly descending, its rays grazing the skyscrapers that stood around the park, illuminating them from behind like black stacks in a sea of gold and red. They reflected upon the water, moving with the waves like a sea of diamonds, sparkling as bright as the most exquisite collier. A soft breeze flared up every now and then and made the leaves and branches around the lake dance with it as squirrels hushed through the treetops and birds tweeted their songs to everyone who would make the effort to listen. In the distance you could hear the faint sounds of the city, car engines roaring, police sirens howling and trains clattering on the rails.

Right now, everything that made New York what it was seemed to coalesce in this very moment Simon experienced. It had felt the same in 1953, it felt the same now and it would probably still feel the same for many years to come. No matter which time, this would be always Simon´s city, his place, his home.

It wouldn’t be long until the sun would vanish in the West; until night would fall upon Central Park and the whole of New York. Not long until the working people would go to bed and the party animals would come out of their hideouts and celebrate and dance until the sun would reappear again in the East.

Not long until the creatures of the night would leave their dens and go hunting.

Not long until Raphael would be here.

Simon couldn’t quite say why he had decided to meet here and not anywhere else _(anywhere safe)_. Magnus had offered his condo, even the Institute would have had its door open for him, but he had decided for this place instead; the place where you could arguable say everything had started. The place both he and Raphael had an emotional connection with. When they had been here, standing at the lakeside, feeding breadcrumbs to the ducks, everything had still been alright. The last moment of true happiness before the sequence of events set its course that would forever alter their lives.

Maybe he wanted to use the place as a bridge to gap the gulf between himself and Raphael. Conjure emotions and impressions that hopefully hadn’t faded in Raphael´s mind, that would remind him of what they had had.

Because Simon was afraid. Terrified, really, of how this would play out. He knew how Raphael had hated his existence as vampire, even when he tried to hide it. He knew that Raphael saw his immortality not as a gift, but as a horrible curse. And now, as it turned out, it had been Simon´s fault that Raphael had to suffer it. Simon was to blame for all of it, because if he hadn’t turned up in Raphael´s life, it would have never ended in the first place. And if Simon couldn’t forgive himself for what he had done, what chance did he have that Raphael would found it in himself to forgive him? Simon didn’t know if he could, if the roles were reversed, so how could he expect Raphael to?

It didn’t mean that he didn’t want Raphael´s forgiveness. No, he yearned for it like a man in the desert yearned for water, like the man drowning in the sea yearned for air. There was this black abyss of guilt in his mind and despite that it had only been a day for Simon it managed to taint everything Simon did, every interaction he had.

Even if Raphael hated him – had hated him for nearly seventy years now – all Simon wanted if he couldn’t have his forgiveness was closure. If they couldn’t go back to what they had been, then they should at least get back to a slate as clean as possible, because Valentine and his lackeys didn’t care for their interpersonal drama while they tried to commit genocide.

No matter how it would turn out, today it would end one way or another.

* * *

In the shadow of the trees, obscured by the darkness that the faint street lights along the paved ways of Central Park could not pierce, Raphael stood hidden as he watched Simon sitting on a bench in front of one of the many lakes that littered the park. Raphael knew the place all too well, still remembered that carefree afternoon so many decades ago when they had fed the ducks before it had all gone downhill. He would come by every now and then and stand at the lakeside while he fed bread that he himself could no longer eat to the ducks, absorbed in memories of times long gone by.

The ducks had changed often over the many years, some had flown away, some had died (Humphrey amongst them), while new ones had taken their place. Ducks and humans were pretty much alike in that regard: learning, growing, evolving, while he stood at the sidelines and watched them pass by. Even the water in the lake had changed, had been replaced, unlike him.

The bench Simon was sitting on had been replaced and repaired at least a dozen times, if not even more. Raphael couldn’t remember. Even from where he was standing, he could take in every detail of Simon´s appearance. Raphael had feared that he had forgotten what he had been like, that time and grief had blurred the memories and his mind had filled the gaps with images of his own creation. Even Magnus had warned him about it, that in the end time was an immortal´s only _enemy (“I don’t remember my mother´s face anymore,” Magnus had confessed one day. “I don’t remember if she had brown eyes or green or how her smile looked like.”)_ , but as he looked at Simon, Raphael found that time had done nothing to the memories of the young man in front of him.

His clothes were different now – no, not different, just adjusted to the time he was now in. Tight blue jeans, a graphic t-shirt with Iron Man´s faceplate on it, with a black sweater over it and white sneakers. But his hair was still the same brown, had still the same dishevelled appearance while his eyes were still the same expressive brown orbs that had looked at Raphael with nothing but kindness and joy.

And that was why his feet were still rooted to the ground, why he couldn’t move forward and just bridge the distance between them. He remembered Simon´s eyes full of kindness and it would break him if those same eyes would look at him now with fear and scorn. He still remembered the confusion mingled with pain with which Simon had looked at him as he had died and Raphael couldn’t bear the thought of seeing even worse in Simon´s eyes directed at him. He had already done enough.

How could you ask someone for forgiveness for murdering them? How could you move past the fact that you ended someone´s life? How did you atone for the unatonable?

You didn’t.

The only reason Raphael was even here, was because Simon had asked him to. Raphael didn’t know why, but even after all these years he couldn’t deny Simon anything. A small ember of hope had rekindled when Magnus had called to tell him that Simon wanted to meet him, but he had squashed it down ruthlessly. There was no place for hope, not at this time and certainly not for him.

Besides, Simon certainly hadn’t called him to ask for his forgiveness. Maybe to tell him to go to hell, or to lay down ground rules for their interactions, maybe to finally cut ties between them forever.

Raphael didn’t need to breath, but sometimes he wished that he could. Just take in a deep breath and calm your nerves. Just to take in Simon´s smell and to never let it go. But he hadn’t taken a breath since 1953. He hadn’t done a lot of things since 1953.

But even if every fibre of his being resisted leaving the protection of his hideout, deep down Raphael knew that he shouldn’t postpone this any longer. He owed it to Simon to take the step forward and meet with him. Even if he didn’t want to. Even though Raphael wanted to continue living in this illusion of a world where Simon didn’t hate him.

So, as the shadows caressed his skin one last time Raphael took the steps forward.

* * *

Alec could still feel the impression of Magnus’ lips on his own as he walked through the hallways of the Institute. There was still this feint echo of adrenaline in his veins, this faded rush of endorphins in his brain. He could still feel the heat underneath his skin and in front of his inner eyes the scene replayed again and again.

All of a sudden, the whole world felt more vibrant and colourful, like it had never felt before. As if a grey veil had been lifted from his eyes, he took in his surroundings as if it was the first time that he was truly seeing them. This pressure that always lasted on his shoulders seemed to have vanished, replaced instead by the feeling of weightlessness. He was so energised that he felt like if Valentine dared to appear right now, Alec would strike him down right on the spot.

Should this be the ‘love’ everyone and all of his books talked about, then Alec could understand why everyone was always chasing after it. He had always thought of love as insidious torture that nested in your mind to strike at you at the most inopportune moments. A feeing designed to weaken oneself and slowly dissolve your rational thinking and your resolve.

But if what he was feeling right now was love, then Alec never wanted it to stop.

“Who are you and what did you do to my brother?” Izzy was leaning in one of the many alcoves that were all around the Institute. Great hiding places.

“What do you mean?” Alec wanted to know.

“If you were truly my brother, you´d shroud yourself in an aura of misery and despair,” Izzy exclaimed theatrically. “And you would kill any joke spoken in your presence with the power of your disapproving eyebrows.” Alec glowered at her, immediately proving her right.

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” he asked exasperated.

“Of course you are,” Izzy assuaged him. “Just tell your sister what finally managed to lift your spirits.” Wise enough to know his sister, Alec kept his mouth shut, which of course, was no obstacle to such a formidable woman such as Isabelle Lightwood.

“Does it have to do something with our resident Warlock?” she asked innocently. Alec tried to keep the heat rising to his cheeks, but he knew that he would fail.

“Oh my god!” Isabelle exclaimed.

“Why don’t you scream a little bit louder so that everyone can hear?” Alec hissed at his sister.

“What did _you_ do?” she whispered. “What did _he_ do?”

“None of your business!” Alec retorted. “Why don’t you stick your nose into someone else´s business but mine? What about Raj?”

“Please,” Izzy snorted. “Raj´s love live is as interesting as reading all two-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighty pages of the Lightwood family history. Now, tell me! I´m your sister, I have the right to know.”

“Will you leave me alone if I tell you?” Alec asked, seriously considering it.

“Maybe,” Izzy replied. “Only if you actually did something worth it.” Her eyes lit up as if a sudden revelation had struck her right at this moment.

“You kissed!” Alec stopped her by putting his hand on her mouth, forcing her to calm down.

“Would you please be quiet!” he hissed at her. As he let go of her again, he sighed and then confessed: “Yes, we kissed.”

Izzy´s following squeal of delight could be heard throughout the whole Institute.

“You don’t know how happy I am for you, truly,” she gushed. “I´ve always wanted for you to be happy and now it finally seems like you are.”

“I suppose I am,” Alec agreed. “Happy.”

“That´s all I could ask for,” Izzy replied. And then she engulfed him in a deep hug that nearly threatened to break all of Alec´s rips.

Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe the whole world would stand against them. Maybe everything would burn down tomorrow.

But right now all of that didn’t matter.

* * *

“Simon.”

It was just his name. Five letters, two vowels. From Σιμων (Simon), the New Testament Greek form of the Hebrew name שִׁמְעוֹן (Shim'on) which meant “he has heard”. Just the sequence of specific sounds that he had been conditioned to listen to.

And yet, hearing it spoken by Raphael meant so much more, even if Simon didn’t know exactly what. There was no inflection in Raphael´s tone, no indication of his emotional state. Just those five letters. Just this sequence of sounds.

Raphael looked different and the same. Different from his past counterpart. His skin was ghostly pale that it seemed nearly translucent, his hair coifed and styled, his body clothed in expensive brands and material. And yet so similar to the Raphael Simon had known from his time before he had been flung in the past. No, not similar: the same. 

He just stood there, barely more than an arm length away and Simon had to resist the temptation of just extending his arm and touch the other man, just to make sure that he was real and not just a figment of his imagination.

“Raphael.”

Seven letters, three vowels. A name of Hebrew origin meaning “God is Healer” or “God has Healed” (רפאל). Just a sequence of specific sounds and yet to Simon it was so much more. It meant safety and home; it meant loyalty and companionship. It meant finding himself and losing who he was all in the same breath. It meant hurt and grief and, finally, it meant _love_.

Simon didn’t know if he managed to convey all of this in those seven letters, but he hoped that Raphael would see at least a little of it. He hoped that Raphael would recognise what he had laid out there, those invisible strands of something more and he hoped that the other would take it.

“You came,” Simon stated, because there had been this nagging doubt that Raphael wouldn’t come. That he would leave Simon sitting here at the water like Simon had left him in the past.

“You asked,” Raphael replied, as if that was the fundamental truth of everything: That Simon had asked and Raphael had come, as sure as the earth orbited the sun, as sure as gravity itself. Simon asked and Raphael came, like the stuff from fairy tales told long ago.

Slowly, as if he feared that any sudden movement would scare Simon away, Raphael stepped nearer and sat down on the other end of the bench.

Would anyone pass them by right now, they would only see two boys on a park bench, so near and yet so far apart. They wouldn’t see the tension in Simon´s stance, the whirlwind of emotions behind Raphael´s blank mask or the hitching of Simon´s breath. They wouldn’t feel the torrent of emotions, wouldn’t feel the anticipation. They would just go on and forget the moment as soon as they had passed by.

“How have you been?” A stupid question, really. How have you been after I buried you and turned you into a vampire? How have you been after seeing everyone you love wither and die? How have you been after I died and left you alone in a world you didn’t understand?

How. Have. You. Been?

“I had my up and downs,” Raphael replied. “But I had Magnus and Brittany, so it´s not like I´ve been completely alone.”

“Brittany´s still alive?” Simon asked in relief.

“I honestly think that death´s too afraid of her to take her,” Raphael told him, the corner of his lip twitching, like he was reminiscing about something that happened a long time ago.

“I guess,” Simon replied. The air between them was full of tension just ready to break, a flood wave just ready to drown them once the dam broke and yet neither of them spoke out what they originally came here for.

It was easier, Simon supposed, to pretend than to actually do something.

“Would you please stop it?” Raphael suddenly exclaimed. “Stop pretending like nothing happened. Stop pretending you don’t hate me. Just stop pretending.” The vehemence of Raphael´s outburst left Simon momentarily speechless, but then he registered what the other had actually said.

“Why would I hate you?” Simon asked confused. Raphael looked at him like he had grown a second head.

“Why wouldn’t you?” he retorted. “I killed you! I ripped open your throat and drank your blood while you bled out right in front of me. Hate is the only logical emotional response after that.”

“I don’t hate you,” Simon whispered. “I never have. I thought…I thought you´d hate me. Because it was my fault that all of this happened to you. It never occurred to me to hate you.”

“Neither did it occur to me,” Raphael replied. And even though Simon tried very much not to, he couldn’t help but start to cry as relief, strong like he never felt it before, flooded through his body. It was such a strong emotional response that the tears streamed freely down his cheeks even as he tried to put into words what he was experiencing.

“I thought you´d certainly hate me,” Simon managed to get out between tears. “That you only agreed to come to tell me off, to scream at me and accuse me of ruining your life. I thought I´d be ready for that, I steeled myself for it the whole way towards here, but obviously I wasn’t if you telling me that you don’t feel murderous rage in my presence reduces me into this sobbing mess.”

“I thought you had the same motives for coming here,” Raphael admitted. “Vampires can´t cry, but if I could, I´d definitely be crying right now, too.”

“We´re such a mess,” Simon agreed, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

“It´s been decades for you,” Simon added carefully, “while it´s been only a day for me since I last saw you.” He paused for a moment, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. “Are you…are you still…?”

“Am I still in love with you?” Raphael finished for him. Simon just nodded, careful to keep his expression as bland as possible. “I never stopped loving you.”

It was the corniest thing someone had ever said to Simon. It could have come straight out of Twilight or another YA novel that took itself way too seriously. It didn’t fit two boys looking barely older than twenty – what would they know about love, loyalty and commitment? – and yet it was one of the heaviest moments of Simon´s life. Raphael spoke with gravity and sincerity as if he had never even doubted that statement for a second. He spoke with wisdom and experience that didn’t match his appearance and to Simon it felt like he had been given the most precious thing that Raphael could give.

“I never stopped, either,” Simon replied. “But it´s been only a day for me, so that doesn’t say much, does it?”

“Just shut up,” Raphael grumbled.

He bent forward, their faces hovering in front of each other for a split second, before Raphael´s mouth finally found his.

They kissed, Simon trying to devour Raphael, to taste everything of him. The air around them crackled with electricity. Raphael tasted like devotion, home and something like smoke, Simon couldn’t really say. It was exactly like Simon remembered kissing Raphael was like and even more. He couldn’t say where he ended and Raphael began, they were one entity sharing two bodied and Simon had never felt so close to somebody, not even at the height of his crush on Clary.

“I´ve waited years for this,” Raphael confessed as Simon had to break their kiss to gasp for air. “I never dared to hope, though.”

“I won´t go away,” Simon stated. “I´ve done enough time travelling for a life time. You´re saddled with me now.”

Raphael laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literarlly no idea where to take the plot next, so don´t expect updates anytime soon (I say that every time lol)


	22. Arc II: Überfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Raphael talk about everything and nothing, Clary and Jace definitely talk about something and the Silent Brothers don´t really talk at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in, like, four hours and I´m really surprised by that?!? Like, when I woke up today i didnt expect to write anything at all and now here were are, with a new chapter. Maybe the new season inspired me, who knows *shrugs*
> 
> Also, only one chpater left until this fic hits the 100k word count *gasps*

Simon still couldn’t quite believe it. He was tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of dream that his mind, but that it was real as the air he was breathing or the shudder he was feeling running down his spine. That he was really sitting here, in Central Park, in the present, with Raphael. He wanted to stretch out his hand and let his finger roam over Raphael´s pale skin, over the crease over his eyebrows, over his red lips, imprinting every of his imperfections in his memories so that it would never fade.

And then with a thrill shooting through his veins, Simon remembered that he could do that. They had just kissed, confessed their love for each other; they were as close to each other as they could possibly get, so he just did it: With a giddy smile on his face he just stretched out his hand, planning on putting into action what he had just envisioned in his mind.

But unlike the beautiful prose in his head, Simon in reality was quite clumsy so instead of the tender gesture he intended – maybe even accompanied by a small breeze and a sparkle in Raphael´s nearly black eyes – he lost his balance and the whole balm of his hand landed on Raphael´s face, covering nearly all of it.

“That wasn’t as romantic as I hoped it would be,” Simon admitted a little embarrassed. “The movies definitely make it look more beautiful.” Raphael mumbled something, but as Simon´s hand was still covering his face it was unintelligible to him. So, Raphael used his own hand to pry Simon´s off his face.

“How could I ever miss that?” He rolled his eyes, but the twitching at the corner of his mouth belied the truth of his statement.

“I´m graceful as hell,” Simon defended himself. “When I want to be.”

“Which is never?” Raphael replied mockingly.

“You wound me!” Simon exclaimed, clutching his heart as if he had been hit by a bullet.

It was exhilarating like nothing else had been before, being able to just sit here on the bench and be able to joke with Raphael like that after he had already thought the other man lost to him forever. It was stupid to feel like that, too easily taken away, but right now Simon couldn’t care less. This was all he had ever wanted, and the world could burn right now, he wouldn’t pay it any attention.

The world was an attention whore, anyway.

“Is it weird that I never want to stop looking at you?” he voiced his thoughts.

“No,” Raphael replied with absolute certainty. “Because I don’t want to stop either.”

“Ugh!” Simon exclaimed. “We´re so disgusting. Like all those couples in the movies I always swore I´d never become.” Raphael just laughed.

“Then let’s walk a bit.” He stood up and offered Simon his hand, which the other gladly took to hoist himself off the bench and onto his feet. Maybe he leaned a little bit more on Raphael than what was necessary, but there was no one to judge him, so what?

“You know, this whole time travel really fucked me up,” Simon spoke up. “I mean, what time line is the real one? Are my memories incompatible with yours?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you remember as our first meeting?”

“When I knocked you unconscious with a soccer ball,” Raphael replied.

“See, I remember something different,” Simon said. “But Magnus remembers.”

“He´s a warlock,” Raphael pointed out. “Maybe he´s protected by some kind of magic. But Simon, does it really matter whether or not I remember the original time line?”

As they walked underneath the tress of Central Park Simon had to think about that.

It hurt. There was no denying that. There had been hundreds and hundreds of intimate moments between him and Raphael in the original time line. Moments that step by step had turned their frosty acquaintance into true friendship and that – at least for Simon – had laid the foundation for deeper feelings to develop. Did this Raphael even read all the Harry Potter books? Had he watched the Star Wars movies like they had in the old timeline? What about all those late-night talks in their favourite little coffee shop? Had they all vanished into whatever abyss the old timeline had fallen into?

For a moment Simon felt like crying for all that had been lost. There he was, arriving from the past only to find his one of his closest friend missing a large junk of his memories. And it hurt, it really did. Like a gaping hole that had opened up in his chest and was swallowing all of his happiness.

But then he looked at Raphael who looked at Simon and there was nothing but love and kindness in his eyes. He gazed at Simon like he could barely believe that he was even here, as if he couldn’t quite grasp that he wouldn’t go away again, that he wouldn’t just fade out of existence.

It reminded Simon that the Raphael in front of him, despite not having all those memories, wasn’t a stranger. He was the boy who had brought Simon home to his mother when he thought he had hurt him. That was the boy he had spent much of his time at school with. This was the boy who had taken him to his best friend´s funeral. The boy who had made fun of Brittany with him. The boy who had been his first kiss. The boy Simon had fought and lost for.

The boy he had fallen in love with.

“No,” Simon whispered. “No, it doesn’t.” No matter which timeline or which world, Raphael was his and it didn’t matter what he remembered. They had a connection, a thread of destiny that joined them. They had history together, even if it was a different one for each of them.

“It´s still a little weird, though,” Simon added.

“Well, we can work with ‘a little weird’, can we?” Raphael smirked.

“Oh, we definitely can,” Simon replied, stealing another kiss from the vampire.

They were behaving like teenagers instead of the soldiers they were supposed to be, but it felt so nice just being normal that Simon soaked in every single moment of it. Knowing his life, the next clusterfuck was probably already waiting behind the next corner. But the war could wait a little bit and leave Simon to his happiness.

“You definitely need to pay Brittany a visit,” Raphael told him after a moment of silence.

“She must be over seventy by now,” Simon thought out loud.

“Age hasn’t mellowed her out,” Raphael spoke fondly. “She turned out quite differently from what everyone else thought.”

“Chad planned to propose to her,” Simon recounted. “He had their whole life together already planned out, but when I asked Brittany about it, she told me that she wouldn’t say yes.” Simon wondered what happened to the boy who had been neither good nor evil, just a product of the society he had grown up. Who underneath it all had possessed kindness and decency and had wanted to devote all of it to the girl he had loved with all of his heart.

Was he still alive?

“I wasn’t there when he proposed,” Raphael told him. Simon could guess why: It must have been shortly after Raphael had been turned. Kind of understandable why he wouldn’t have been right in the middle of everything. “But Brittany told me about it later. It was quite the scandal amongst the circles her family runs in. Her parents tried to pressure her into accepting the proposal, but she remained steadfast, even when the distance between her and her parents grew bigger and bigger.

At first Chad was quite heartbroken, but with time he realised that Brittany had done both of them a favour. They remained friends until…”

“He died?” Simon finished. Raphael just nodded.

“Ten years ago,” he told Simon. “A stroke at home. No one saw it coming. But I think Brittany would like to tell you the rest of it. It´s her life story after all.”

“Ugh, while we talk about lives and all that, I need to see my family tomorrow,” Simon threw in. “Magnus told me that he made up some excuse for my absence, but…”

“You want to see them,” Raphael finished for him. Simon nodded.

“With all that Valentine stuff going on I haven’t really spent much time with them,” he admitted, guilt churning in his stomach. “And then I was stuck in the past for weeks.” He had really missed his mother and sister, even though they weren’t as close as they used to be. All the secrets Simon needed to keep from them – about a whole world of magic and creatures – had put an invisible divide between them that was difficult to overcome. But still, the were his family and Simon loved them with all of his heart.

“They´re fine,” Raphael assuaged him. “Magnus and I checked up on them periodically.”

“Thanks,” Simon breathed. “It´s just…now that I´m back there seems to be so much stuff that needs to be done and put in order that I don’t even know where to start.”

“That´s alright,” Raphael replied. “You´ve got me now to help you with that.”

And right now, that was enough for Simon.

* * *

“Can I come in?” Clary turned around from where she was sitting in front of the mirror to find Jace leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing only jogging pants and a black sweater which cutout exposed much of his collar bone along with the runes that were covering his skin there.

Clary nodded.

“I came to apologise.”

“Apologise for what?” Clary asked confused.

“That I wasn’t there for you when you needed me,” Jace replied. “You went through something traumatic after being introduced to a world you didn’t know before and I didn’t even bother trying to help you. I made up excuses, like that there was a war going on, or that Valentine was still on the loose – even that I needed to help finding your mundane friend – but I should have made time for you.”

“I´m not your responsibility,” Clary told him in a firm voice. “I appreciate the thought, I really do, but I´m not some damsel in mistress.”

“I never said you were,” Jace assuaged her. “But it´s only human to need help every now and then. It took me very long to realise that.”

“You don’t seem like a person who opens up to others,” Clary agreed with him.

“When the Lightwoods first took me in, I wasn’t, not really,” Jace replied. “But you can only keep Alec and Izzy away from your troubles for so long.” He smiled, completely unguarded and honest, and for a moment Clary thought that he was really beautiful like that.

“It´s just…” she started, trying to find the right words. “You all seem so put together; so tough and trained. And I´m already so much behind you and everyone else that I don’t want to be seen as week as well.”

“No one thinks you´re weak,” Jace assured her.

“I do,” Clary whispered.

“Everyone here has their cross to bear,” Jace replied. “It would be hypocrisy to judge you for yours.”

“What´s yours?” Clary asked. For a short moment she thought that she had gone too far, that Jace would close himself off and leave; that she had stepped over an invisible line she wasn’t supposed to cross, but Jace didn’t leave. He just walked over to her bed and set down while Clary turned around on her chair to face him.

"Once there was a boy," Jace finally began.

Clary interrupted immediately. "A Shadowhunter boy?"

"Of course." For a moment a bleak of amusement coloured his voice. Then it was gone. "When the boy was 6 years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors – killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky.

The falcon didn't like the boy, and he didn't like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with his beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn't know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus was nearly impossible to train. But the boy tried, because his father had told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father.

He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the bird blind, but he couldn't bring himself to do it - instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. He fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that the beak cut his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if it had to consume his blood to make that happen.

He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like light. When it learned to circle and land on his wrist, he nearly shouted with delight. Sometimes the bird would hop to his shoulder and but its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain that it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud.

Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands, and broke its neck. 'I told you to make him obedient,' his father said, and dropped the falcon's lifeless body to the ground. ‘Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.'

Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: That to love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”

“That´s a horrible story!” Clary exclaimed in horror.

“It is what it´s supposed to be,” Jace just shrugged.

“It´s child abuse,” Clary stated firmly.

“I know that now,” Jace replied. “But it took me years to get there. I always thought my father was just trying to help me. Make me stronger. Inflexible.” He swallowed. “Only when I came to the Lightwoods and saw how a true family was supposed to work did I realise that what he did was wrong.”

“What happened to him?” Clary asked.

“He died in a fire,” Jace spoke. “I didn’t tell you this to earn your pity, though. I told you so that you would realise that everyone you see around her has experienced horror. It´s how you decide to deal with it that makes or breaks you.”

Clary didn’t say anything for a while, instead thinking about what Jace had said. It must be quite a risk for him, opening up to her like that without knowing how she would react. It took courage to do that; in Clary´s opinion even more than charging a demon would take. Jace had made himself vulnerable in front of her, just so that she would no longer feel vulnerable and she felt so grateful for that. He was showing her that what had happened to her – the possession she had been powerless to stop – didn’t automatically make her weak. He was showing her that he, too, had suffered but that he had overcome it and had used it to make himself stronger.

And if he could do it, so could she.

“Thank you,” she finally said.

He smiled at her. “You´re welcome.”

* * *

It was always cold in the City of Bones. The sun never even reached beyond the few entries into the millennia old burial ground of the Shadowhunters. The only source of light and warmth were the few torches that barely illuminated the dark tunnels, more for the benefit of the few visitors than for the Silent Brothers and Sisters who had no need for any kind of illumination. They had also no need for warmth, for they needed none in their quest to protect one of the holiest sites of the Shadow World.

But it was not only the physical cold that drafted through the miles and miles of underground network. No, there was also the cold that came from the knowledge that you entered a place where the remains of thousands of Shadowhunters had found their last resting place. There was the shudder that came from the unseeing eyes of the empty skulls that lined every wall as if they were watching your every move. And there was the pressure that came from the weight of the years and years of history that was imbued in every fibre of this place: Nothing could humble more than the knowledge that this place had witnessed and would witness so much more than a single human being ever could.

It was something Brother Zachariah often contemplated when he walked the hallways on his daily rounds. That even he, as Silent Brother, would one day became part of the very construct he helped to upkeep, and that he would still be part of it when his name would be long forgotten. Even in death his service would not end and to him, who had dedicated his whole existence to this place, this thought was more soothing than anything else.

Today, though, he didn’t think about that.

No, as he walked the hallway faster than he usually did, without spending time to take in the beauty around him (which came in many shapes and forms for which you didn’t need eyes), he thought about Valentine´s latest actions, that had been foolish beyond anything.

What did the traitor think, sending three barely trained Circle members after the Mortal Sword? Its defences were many and every Brother and Sister was ready to lay down their lives in defence of it. They would never allow one of the Angel´s gifts to the Shadowhunter to fall in the hands of the likes of Valentine, for them to desecrate and besmirch. If Zachariah was still a normal human, or even a ‘normal’ Shadowhunter, he would shudder at the thought, but he wasn’t, so he just continued walking towards the entry where the guards had stopped the incursion.

The three Circle members were kneeling on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs. Zachariah couldn’t seem them like everyone else would see them. He didn’t see their black clothes, their heavy boots, their recalcitrant expressions or the blood that was flowing from various cuts upon their bodies. He only saw their magic, their souls, their essence and it was an ugly thing to behold. Once they had been beautiful like any human soul was, but then they had taken the Circle rune and like a disease it had spread through their whole being. Dark, purulent tentacles that were spreading from where the rune had been placed on their bodies like a net that they could never entangle themselves from.

Valentine´s creation was insidious like that. Even if they every renounced their allegiance they could never get rid of the mutilation they had put themselves through. Not that they would even consider that, for hate had warped them as much as the Circle run had and if there was one thing that Zachariah knew you could never come back from then it would be hate like that.

 _We caught them trying to enter the City,_ Sister Anne spoke in his mind. _We called you to decide their fate._

 _A wise course of action,_ Zachariah agreed. _It should always be three._ Brother Matthew just send his approval through the link that all of them shared with each other. Zachariah turned towards the three Circle members on the ground.

 _What was the purpose of your incursion?_ He asked, already knowing the answer. There was only one thing that Valentine would want from the City of Bones. But he wouldn’t get it. Never. Not as long as they existed.

“You know already,” one of Valentine´s followers, a woman, hissed. Her soul had been a bright yellow once, its purity only amplified by the runes she had taken since her ascension to become a Shadowhunter. That had been a long time ago, though. Now it the colour of purulence, the Circle rune pulsating on it like a parasite, a foreign body that didn’t belong.

 _Then you also know that you have failed,_ Zachariah stated. _The Sword will never fall in the hands of your master and his nefarious plans._

“Like all relicts, you, too, will fall under the might of Valentine,” the woman shot back. “You just don’t know it yet.”

 _A pity,_ Zachariah mused, _you had so much potential, Hannah._ Before the realisation that Zachariah knew her name could even hit her, he was already digging through her mind. He didn’t bother to be gentle for she was a traitor and a criminal and therefore deserved no consideration. Instead he tore through her mind like a ram instead of the surgical instrument he could form his magic to be and soon her screams filled the otherwise silent tunnel.

He saw Valentine, surrounded by cages filled with the pitiful remnants of what used to Downworlders. He saw Hannah kneeling in front of the rouge Shadowhunter, receiving her orders while pride and glee filled her mind because out of all of them she had been chosen for this task.

And he saw someone standing next to Valentine, not as his servant or slave, but as his equal, sharing the same smile that was also on Valentine´s face as they looked over their devoted troops. The two of them ready to rain destruction and despair down on Clave and Downworlders alike, so that they could build a world after their own vision on the smoking ruins of the old one.

Zachariah retreated from Hannah´s mind as fast as he could.

 _They are not alone!_ He warned Anne and Matthew, but as the words reached his brother and sister he already knew that it was too late. Because as much removed as they were from humanity, at their core the Silent Brothers were still mortal and like every mortal being they experienced the same foreboding of their own violent demise like the woman in the barely lit back alley, the antelope about to be killed by the lion or the fish about to be swallowed whole did. Every mortal being had this sense shortly before their death, but most of the time it wasn’t enough to save them.

So even before the Seraph blade pierced his back and cut through bones and flesh alike, Zachariah knew that he was about to die. Even before he fell onto the ground and the blood started seeping out of him, he knew that this had been the plan along. And even before he tried to roll on his back to gaze at his murderer, he already knew whose hands guided the blade that would end his life.

Not Valentine.

Worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3
> 
> Also, I´m looking for Shadowhunter recomendations. I have the feeling that much of what is currently published is just non-power!AU one -shots and while I enjoy them very much, right now I´m really in the mood for some big epos that uses all of that glorious lore and wolrdbuilding of the show. So, if you know something like that, leave a comment ;) doesn´t matter if it´s WIP or completed


	23. Arc II: Botschaft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary re-visits the City of Bones but it´s even less enjoyable than the last time. Simon reconnects with his family and an uninvited guest. Alec is competent and Izzy fashionable. Very much so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I never would have thought that one day I´d write a 100k word fic *gasps* but here it is and I can even say that I have a rough outline of how the rest of it will go (would be a first time lol). I wanted to thank all of you who commented, kudos-ed or just read my fic, it really means the world to me <3 I´m serious, sometimes it was a single thoughtful comment that rekindled my muse and had me write new chapters, so I´m not kidding when I say that your comment matters!

Clary was doodling on her sketch block when Isabelle stormed into her room as if the hordes of hell were perusing her. Clary finished her last line and looked up at the other Shadowhunter questioningly.

“There was an attack on the City of Bones,” Izzy explained. “We believe it was Valentine.”

“Oh my God,” Clary exclaimed, suddenly all of her attention focused on the other Shadowhunter. “Do we know why?”

“No, not really,” Izzy shook her head. “That´s why the Clave ordered us to go there and take a look.”

“Are there any victims?” Clary asked.

“Nothing definite,” Izzy replied. “We received an alarm and then all communications were cut off. But knowing Valentine, there´ll probably be quite a few. So, gear up and meet me downstairs.” Then she had already turned around and was walking out of the room.

Sighing, Clary put down her drawing equipment and wandered over to her wardrobe. She couldn’t very well go on a mission in her favourite blouse and joggers. In the end she decided on a sturdy pair of leather boots, black latex pants she didn’t even know she owned and a black leather jacket.

Looking into the mirror the thought that she dressed like a female version of Jace crossed her mind, but it was banished as fast as it had come.

The others were already waiting in the command centre when Clary came downstairs. Alec wore his typical frown as he watched the information that was displayed on the table while Jace leaned against one the pillars as if he had no care in the world. But Clary could see through him: They way his eyes darted through the room, his tensed shoulders and the way his arms were defensively crossed in front of his chest betrayed that he, too, was on the edge. Izzy completed the trio with her black stilettos that Clary still wasn’t sure weren’t some weapons and her silver whip fastened at her hips.

“Izzy told me that there was an attack on the City of Bones,” Clary said as she reached the three.

“We assume it was Valentine,” Alec replied, not looking up from the table. “We´re send out to ascertain the damage. I really don’t know what we´ll be expecting.” He looked around, holding everyone´s gaze as if he wanted to make sure that everyone was aware of the dangers that laid ahead. “So, suit up and expect the worst.”

“What do you think we´ll find?” Clary asked Jace, her voice subdued, as they made their way out of the Institute and towards one the Clave owned cars that stood on the street.

“I don´t know,” he replied. “Nothing good, though.”

“Yeah, that´s my guess, too,” Clary sighed.

Jace took the seat next to Alec while Clary and Izzy had the back all to themselves. As the engine roared to life and they slowly made their way through the streets of Manhattan, Clary pulled out her phone and dialled Simon´s number.

Her friend picked up after the second ring.

“Already missing me, Fray?” he quipped.

“You wish,” Clary shot back. “What are you doing?”

“I´m on my way home,” Simon replied. She could hear the sounds of the street through the phone. “I haven’t seen mom and Rebecca in a while.” That was an understatement, but Clary didn’t point that out. “They think I´ve been on some musical camp in Connecticut.”

“To be fair that´d totally be something you´d do on a whim,” Clary remarked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Simon laughed.  

“Listen, Simon,” Clary continued. “I just called you to tell you that Valentine attacked the City of Bones.”

“Shit,” Simon winced. “Are you on your way there?”

“Yes,” Clary confirmed. Logically, there was no need to tell Simon at all, but Clary nevertheless needed him to know where she was going, just in case…just in case something happened. When Simon had been stranded in the past the worst thing had been not knowing where exactly he was or if he wold ever come back. Of all things, that insecurity had been what had made her lay awake at night in fear for her best friend. She didn’t want Simon to feel the same fear, the same uncertainty, should anything happen to her. He should know where to look for her…only in case...

She was glad that the others in the car were at least pretending to not listen in on her call.

“Cool,” Simon replied. “Well, not cool that there´s been an attack or that you have to go look at it, but cool that you told me, you know, totally cool…”

“Simon,” Clary interrupted him. “You´re rambling.”

“Shutting up now,” Simon said. “Come back whole, we still need to binge-watch all the episodes of Supernatural I missed while I was away.”

“You didn’t miss much, Destiel still isn’t a thing.” Clary laughed. “And don´t think I won´t interrogate you about every second of your meeting with Raphael. You´ll spill everything, Lewis!”

“Insert that one gif with Kermit drinking tea here,” Simon replied. “Bye, Clary.”

“Bye Simon.” Then she hung up.

Behind the windows the city blurred by. There were less people on the streets than usual, as if the inhabitants of the city were somehow aware of what had happened and were staying in their own four walls for the night, choosing the security of their homes over the adventures the street had to offer.

“Simon really keeps interesting company,” Izzy pointed out. “The High Warlock of Brooklyn, the second-in-command of the New York vampire clan and then you turned out to be a Shadowhunter while your step-father leads a werewolf pack.”

“Yeah, it´s crazy,” Clary agreed. “By the end of it, he´ll probably have befriended an angel.”

“As long as he doesn’t domesticate a demon or something,” Izzy laughed.

“Just imagine him trying to keep a Ravener on a leash,” Clary snorted in amusement. Izzy grinned at her.

“We´re here,” Alec interrupted them. Indeed, as he parked the car Clary could see the cemetery looming in front of her. “From now on I want your full attention on the mission. No needless chatter, understood?” He received three affirmative nods.

They entered the graveyard through another entrance than the one Jace and Clary had used the last time they had come here, but when the vault with the statue of the weeping angel appeared in front of them, Clary could finally recognise her surroundings.

They entered through the vaults into the tunnels, but this time a shiver ran down her spine as the darkness – only pierced by their witch lights – seemed more sinister and oppressive than the last time. Maybe it was just her mind, filling the blanks with the knowledge that whatever was expecting them, it wouldn’t be good.

The statue of Raziel looked the same as the last time. Not even Valentine´s follower would dare to defile the earthly representation of their creator. Not when they saw themselves as the ones following in his tradition.

“We need to split up,” Izzy remarked as she nodded towards the many ways that split off the cave. Clary hadn’t noticed them the last time, not really, too occupied by thoughts of her mother and fear of the Silent Brothers. “We can´t cover everything if we go as group.”

“No one knows how big the City of Bones really is,” Alec replied. “If Valentine´s men are still here, they could be everywhere.”

“Most of the tunnels here are burial grounds,” Jace disagreed. “Valentine´s got no interest in that.” He shook his head. “He´s after the Sword. He must be.”

“Shit,” Izzy cursed.

“The Sword is kept in the upper levels,” Alec stated. “That´s doable. Izzy, you come with me. Jace, you´ll take Clary.” They shared one last look and then the Lightwood siblings took off in one of the tunnels.

“Let´s go,” Jace told her.

They moved in absolute silence as they made their way through the tunnel. They would look into every room that branched off it, looking for signs of life or anything, really, that could help them finding out whether Valentine had archived his objective or not. It also offered insights into the lives of the Silent Brothers and Sisters that probably no other Shadowhunter had ever received.

They went through small bedrooms that consisted of nothing but wooden cots and stone basins filled with water. Rooms filled to the ceiling with books and scrolls, rooms filled with long rows of writing desks and even a kitchen and a dining room. All had in common their frugality and their lack of any kind of personal touch.

It was disconnecting seeing individuality rendered so insignificant.

“Being a Silent Brother is a calling, not a job,” Jace replied when she voiced her thoughts. “When a Shadowhunter enters the order, they leave behind all their worldly possessions, their names and even their appearance. There´s no need for individuality when you´re part of something bigger.”

It was probably meant to sound encouraging, but to Clary it was like a dystopia come true.

“That sounds horrible,” she whispered, but Jace didn´t seemed to have heard her.

The hallway ended in front of two closed portals, adorned by ornaments engraved into the stone to make it look like vines were climbing up the whole doors.  

“That´s the last room,” Jace stated. “If it´s empty as well we need to turn around and take another.”

“I really don´t know if I should hope that we do find something or that we don´t,” Clary remarked.

“Me neither,” Jace admitted. Then with one last breath, he stepped forward and pushed open the door, which gave away with a loud groan.

Clary gasped in horror at the sight in front of her: Silent Brothers laid on the floor, their bodies contorted into unnatural shapes as if someone had stacked them as a weird main attraction in a horror cabinet. Blood had soaked through their robes, spreading on the ground in a sea of red. Most of them had been stabbed but some of them had their throats cut as if they hadn’t even seen their attackers coming.

“Oh my God,” Clary whispered in horror.

“Now we know what Valentine did here,” Jace said, his lips set into a thin line.

“We need to tell Alec and Izzy,” Clary said. Jace looked at her, at the room and then back here.

“I´ll get them,” he spoke. “Stay here and don´t do anything stupid.”

“So, don´t do anything you´d do?” Clary sniped back, the horror of the situation momentarily forgotten as she needled Jace. The Shadowhunter flashed her a short grin, before his expression became serious again.

“I´ll just take a look,” Clary replied. “Maybe I´ll find something that´ll help us.” When she saw Jace hesitant expression, she added: “They´re all dead. They won´t hurt me.” Jace took one last look at the room, then back at her before he nodded and took off.

Clary let out a deep sigh and then steeled herself for what she had to do now.

Carefully Clary stepped between the corpses, careful not to touch on any of them. She had to remind herself to breath but every time she did, the coppery smell of blood would fill her nose and would make her nearly gag. The only sound disrupting the silence was the plash of her shoes wading through the blood.

Suddenly a tremor went through one of the corpses and before Clary could even react, the Silent Brother´s dead hand had grasped her arm.

She screamed.

“Hello Clarissa.” It was a grotesque sight: Whatever this thing was, it couldn’t speak mentally like the Silent Brothers could and so it had just opened its mouth, tearing its lips into bloody shreds of as the twine that the Silent Brothers used to sew their mouths shut tore through its lips like a hot knife through butter. “I´m so glad that we could finally meet.” Blood was flowing down the corpses chin, dropping to the ground where it left a red puddle.

“Valentine,” Clary hissed, her current struggle momentarily forgotten as she stared at the reanimated corpse with all the disgust she could muster.

“I´d like to say that you´ve grown up into a nice woman, but this vessel doesn’t have any eyes, so…” The reanimated Silent Brother tilted its head to its side as if it was contemplating its statement.

“Let go off me,” Clary hissed at the corpse, trying to pull her arm out of its grip, but it was to no avail. The corpse´s hold on her was as unbreakable as steel.

“Not before I´ve had the chance to talk to you,” the corpse tsk-ed. “After all, your mother robbed me of that for eighteen long years.”

“Where is she?” Clary shouted at Valentine´s proxy. “What have you done to her?”

“Nothing irreversible,” the man taunted her. “That could change, though, if you…”

He didn’t get to finish as in this exact moment the other Shadowhunters burst through the door, their blades drawn and their runes blazing in an otherworldly golden tone.

“Clary!” Jace exclaimed when he saw her kneeling on the ground with the corpse´s hand wrapped tightly around her arm.

“Not a step closer or I´ll make her hurt!” Valentine roared. Jace, Izzy and Alec came to a halt, but Clary could see that they were ready to pounce onto Valentine the moment she was safe. Every muscle in their body´s was tensed, their weapons gripped tightly, their eyes constantly darting between her and the corpse.

“What do you want?” Clary gritted out.

“I want what I´ve always wanted,” the corpse hissed. “The Mortal Cup.”

“Never!” Clary exclaimed.

“Really?” Valentine laughed. “Not even when it means getting back your mother?” Clary hesitated, and Valentine pounced on it like the predator he was. “Give me the Mortal Cup and I´ll hand over your mother. Unharmed.”

“How do I know you´re not lying?” Clary wanted to know.

“You don´t,” Valentine simply replied. “If you want your mother back, bring the Mortal Cup to the location your Mundane friend will provide you with.”

“Simon? What did you do to him? I swear, if you harmed him…” But Valentine wasn’t even listening to her any longer. With one last groan, the corpse slumped down and let go off her. Instantly, Clary scrambled away, intent to get as much distance between the corpse and herself as possible. She didn’t even have the time to process what had happened when Jace was already next to her, laying his hand on her shoulder, offering her a life line to cling on.

“What was that?” Alec wanted to know, as he and his sister slowly circled around the unmoving corpse. Their weapons were still drawn as if they were expecting for Valentine to come back and jump at them at any moment.

“I don´t know,” Izzy replied, concern deeply etched onto her face. “I´ve never seen something like that.”

“We should leave,” Jace urged. “Everyone´s dead here and we don’t know what else Valentine has left for us.” Alec and Izzy nodded in agreement. Still shaken, Clary stood up from the ground, leaning on Jace for spiritual support as much as for physical one.

“What about what Valentine said?” she asked as the group made its way up the stairs. “About getting my mother back.”

“Let´s talk about that when we get back,” Alec shot her down, practically ending the discussion. For the rest of their way neither of them spoke. When they passed the statute of Raziel and the warning words etched on its pedestal, Clary looked back one last time. The entrances to the City of Bones laid there, surrounded by nothing but darkness and betraying none of the horrors that could be found within.

Clary never wanted to come back here again.

* * *

Simon´s hand hovered over the doorknob of his family´s house.

Clary´s call still weighed on his mind, but as much as he wanted to help her, he knew that he wasn’t equipped to offer any help at all, not when it came to fighting Valentine´s hordes. He just had to trust Clary and the people that were with her that they knew what they were doing. They had survived until and that wouldn’t suddenly stop now.

There were other, more pressing, matters to attend to, so Simon pushed the thought of Clary, Valentine and the City of Bones at the back of his mind and turned his attention back to the situation at hand.

It shouldn’t be that difficult, he berated himself and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do the final step and face his family. It wasn’t as if his mother or sister would be angry at him or something. They thought he had been in a musical camp somewhere in New England and not seventy years in the past due to some magical accident. For them, everything was as usual; nothing out of the ordinary and they would welcome him with open hearts, of that Simon was sure.

The problem was that everything wasn’t as usual. At least not for him.

After Raphael and he had parted ways – a process that had lasted longer and hurt more than usual, but the promise that they would soon see each other again lifted Simon´s spirits considerably – Simon had stayed the night in one of Magnus’ guest rooms. Unable to find sleep, he had stared at the ceiling for hours until exhaustion finally took pity on him and made him fall into a dreamless slumber.

He had left Magnus’ loft in the evening the next day, not before wringing the promise that he would be informed of any new developments out of the warlock and had set out on his way to his home. As he had walked the all too familiar streets of Brooklyn, he had wondered how everything would continue from here now. And what his place would be in the events yet to unfold.

The past had been easier to navigate, Simon must admit to himself. There was just High Schools and its associated social hierarchy to worry about (and getting back to the future), but it had been kind of freeing in its simplicity. Now he was back in his time and he had to worry about Shadowhunters, the Clave, Valentine and Downworld politics. There were so many hidden layers, so many concealed agendas, that every progress on their side only led to even more complications.

Simon didn’t know how he could keep up the mask in front of his family. Most of the time they already felt like strangers to him, which made a hot feeling of guilt churn in his stomach. He hadn’t confided in his mother ever since he discovered the Shadow World, for he know that – despite loving him so fiercely that it hurt sometimes – his mother in her fragile state couldn’t handle the truth of the world surrounding her. And while he loved Rebecca with all of his heart, he had never told her as well. Three people were simply too much to keep a secret.

Ever since he had met Magnus, Simon had build up a whole life for himself that his family didn’t know about. And it hurt to know that, essentially, it made him a person his mother and sister didn’t really know. After all, they weren’t even privy to some of the most pivotal moments in his life.

Simon loved his family, but there was a distance between them that could never be bridged.

Sighing, he finally opened the door and entered the house.

“Mom!” he exclaimed. “Becky?!” No answer.

Simon put his bag on the ground and skidded his shoes at the wall (his mother would throw a fit once she would see it) and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water from the tab. Glass in his hand, he turned around to walk into the adjacent dining room, but what he saw there made him stop dead in his tracks.

His mother and sister were sitting at the table, hands in their laps and smiles on their face, their expressions empty and vacant. They looked more akin to puppets than to actual human beings and only the barely recognisable lifting and lowering of their chests convinced Simon that they weren’t dead.

What made his blood run cold, though, was the person sitting at the frontside of the table. A cruel smirk on her face, Camille lounged in the chair as if she was completely at home and not an intruder in someone else´s.

The glass slipped out of Simon´s finger and fell to the ground, shattering into thousand pieces and scattering its content all over the floor. The sound of it tore through the silence like a gunshot and yet neither his mother nor his sister even batted an eyelash.

“Camille,” Simon whispered in dread. His mind was racing: Why was she even here, what did she want and how was it that his time travelling didn’t seem to affect her? How did she even remember him?

“Simon, darling,” the female vampire drawled. “So glad that you´re finally here. Please sit.” She pointed to the chair on the other end of the table.

“Sit!” she repeated with force when Simon didn’t instantly obey her command. Swallowing hard, Simon pulled back the chair and sat down. If it wasn’t so dangerous it could be almost called comical how Camille and he sat on opposite ends of the table with his family between them.

“How are you here?” Simon asked.

“I´m centuries old, my darling,” Camille replied. “Do you really think I didn’t use that time to protect my mind against unwanted meddling?”

“How can you protect yourself against time?” Simon wanted to know.

“Well, that’s my secret to keep,” Camille smirked. “But we´re not here to talk about me, anyway…”

“Why are you here then?” Simon snapped, feeling braver than he probably should.

“I found myself forced into the role of a messenger,” Camille gritted out.

“Who could force…” Simon started, but then it dawned on him. “Valentine.”

“Glad to see that you aren´t as dumb as the rest of the sheep,” Camille taunted, but Simon didn’t react to her verbal abuse.

“What have you done to my family?” he wanted to know, even though he could already guess what Camille probably had done.

“I´ve just made them go along with whatever I want,” she replied. “Once I´m gone, you can have them back.”

“Then let´s just give me whatever Valentine has entrusted you with,” Simon gritted out.

“His message is not for you,” Camille told him. “It´s for his daughter.”

“Of course, it is,” Simon sighed.

“Tell her that the meeting point is at The Liberty Warehouse,” Camille relayed her message. Simon frowned.

“What meeting point?” he asked in confusion.

“I don’t know,” Camille admitted. “But your red-haired friend will.” She stood up, graceful as the snake she was. “Now that this is done, I can finally go.”

“Why are you helping him?” Simon wanted to know. He couldn’t quite understand what could make the proud and powerful vampire Camille undoubtedly was help Valentine, a man she despised as any Downworlder would. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Do not assume anything about me!” Camille shouted, her façade of indifference and superiority slipping for a split-second. “Like everyone else I have things I want to protect. That pig threatened those things and the easiest way out for me was to do as he bid me.” A short pause. “Let´s hope that we won´t have to do that again.”

And then she was gone in nothing but a blur, leaving behind a Simon who could barely believe that he had made it out of their meeting alive and with all limbs still attached.

“Simon?” He looked up to see his mother staring at him, her vacant expression replaced with joy. “I didn’t know you were coming back today.” She stood up, walked over to him and hugged him. “I´m so happy you´re back.”

“Yeah, me, too, loser,” Rebecca chimed in.

“I´m happy, too,” Simon whispered. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3
> 
> Also, I was super-productive this week. I did literally nothing for university (even though I should have), but additionally to this chapter I managed to write a whole 13k words fic. Maybe take a look at it? It´s an AU to "The Mundane and the Warlock" (so an AU to an AU - AU inception) where fourteen-year-old Alec meets our fabulous duo (Simon first and Magnus later). 
> 
> Link is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744567).


	24. Arc II: Schaukel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There´s a swing in the Lewis´ garden. Simon and Raphael talk. Magnus and Luke meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in a bout of inspiration I´ve already pre-written the next three chapter and they´re all about character development and interaction. This chapter will be Saphael, the next Malec and then the reunion between Simon and Brittany. And then there´ll be some action...probably. I´ll probably post every two weeks so that I have time to write a big enough reserve of chapters ^^ also, I did a little googleing on Jewish burial tradition and hope that I portrayed everything right.

Simon couldn’t shake off the spectre of Camille´s visit that hung over him like a thunderstorm for the rest of the evening. He smiled for his mother and sister and answered their question about his supposed vacation with lies and even more lies. In some moments, when he allowed his guard to come down and laugh with his family it even felt like nothing had happened – like they were a normal family without a whole sea of unspoken secrets between them – but then Simon would hear the creaking of a floorboard while Rebecca was moving around or see something move outside the window and instantly his mind would turn back to those horrible few minutes where Camille had had his family under her control and he had been powerless to stop it.

Every second, he expected her to waltz back in and continue her sick and twisted game, because that was the person Camille was. Like a tornado she would come back and leave nothing behind but destruction only for the sake of her twisted entertainment. A twinge shot through his heart when he saw his mother and Rebecca talk and laugh as if nothing had happened all the while he sat there with the knowledge that their lives could have been cut short if Camille just had willed it.

There were not many situations where Simon had ever felt that helpless and that angry. He never imagined that he could hate a person as much as he was hating Camille right now. It wasn’t hot and blazing, but a cold ember glowing in the back of his mind, just enough to be easily ignored but not enough to be just extinguished.

_‘Like everyone else I have things I want to protect.’_ That was what Camille had said. Simon wondered what someone like her had to protect. What could a cold being like the vampire cherish enough to allow herself being commanded by someone like Valentine? Who could move past the sociopath and the sadist to discover something worth loving? Simon doubted that there was anyone, but if he had learned anything ever since he had gotten to know Magnus then it was that love was something that followed neither rules nor logic.

So, maybe there as something in the barren wasteland of Camille´s soul that she was able to love.

“Simon?” He looked up at his mother´s questioning gaze which was mirrored by his sister. “Are you alright? You seemed pretty lost in your thoughts for a moment.”

“I´m fine,” Simon replied, the lie by now rolling over his tongue as easily as the truth. “Just thinking about…stuff.”

“Romantic stuff?” Rebecca joked. “Did you get to know some nerdy girl at that camp of yours with whom you´ll now exchange cheesy love songs you´ll write for each other?”

“Or a boy,” his mother added. “I wouldn’t mind another boy around here.”

“No, there´s no one,” Simon tod them, even though his heart was aching to tell them about Raphael. But deep-down Simon knew that he couldn’t tell his family about the love he had found with the other boy. They were not part of the same world and would never be. Raphael could never just come by for dinner and talk about his life, his hopes, his dreams, his aspirations, because they didn’t belong in the sort of lives his mother and sister had. Raphael could never be with him during the daytime. He couldn’t eat what his mother would put on the table, wouldn´t understand Rebecca when she was talking about college and job applications and his family in return wouldn’t understand him.

Introducing Raphael meant introducing another mountain of lies to keep his family out of the know and in safety and it would only hurt everyone involved. And Simon wasn’t selfish enough for that, even though he wished he could be, just for a split-second. He imagined Raphael sitting next to him while his mother was questioning him about everything and his sister was needling him about having to put up with Simon, but in a nice, sisterly kind of way.

It was a nice picture that he painted in his mind, but it was only wistful thinking. And that was all it would ever be.

“Pity,” Rebecca remarked. “I would have so liked to meet someone who would fall in love with your nerdy ass.”

“Hey!” Simon exclaimed and flipped her his finger. Rebecca just laughed. His mother smiled at them fondly.

And for a few quiet moments Simon´s life was alright.

* * *

Later Simon found himself sitting on the swing in their backyard. It was one of the last projects his father and Simon had tackled before…before he had died. Simon hadn’t used it for months after his father´s dead; in his six-year-old mind it had been too connected with his father to even look at it without being overwhelmed by the grief he was feeling at that time. When he had seen Rebecca use it one day he had totally lost it, crying and screaming at her, much too the confusion of his sister and mother who couldn’t figure out what had agitated him so much.

Rebecca who was also dealing with her grief, had started to cry, too, and then his mother, suddenly too overwhelmed by two crying children and her own grief had started to cry, as well. Simon had felt so bad for causing his remaining family so much distress that he had never told them why he had lost it in the first place. He shouldn’t have gone mad at Rebecca for using the swing. It was a ridiculous thing to get angry about and the shame of it echoed on until the very present.

But over the years the swing had become a place of solace and retreat, where Simon could withdraw to when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. No one could see him from here, not even the neighbours, obstructed as their view was by the picket fence framing their little garden patch. This was the place where he felt the most connected to his father, not that cold and impersonal grave where his father had been laid to rest.

When his father´s _mazewa_ had been revealed Simon hadn’t been there. Just the thought of standing at his father´s grave and watch the _Gilui Mazewa_ taking place had been enough to send him into a panic attack. He hadn’t been ready for it, just seven years old, still trying to cover up the gaping hole his father´s departure had left behind and not prepared to see his father´s gravestone being revealed, not when it above all symbolised that his father was truly gone and would never come back. So, he had stayed behind, on the swing, allowing the tears to flow freely and the pain surge through his whole body. His father would never come back but he had left Simon the swing, even if he felt too old to have any fun with it now.

Besides his family, only Clary had ever been allowed to be here and sit next to him. When Simon had told her about its importance, she had stayed silent, allowing him to speak even as his voice threatened to break and when Simon had finished she had hugged him and thanked him for trusting her this much.

He had tried calling her, to tell her of Camille´s – or rather Valentine´s – message, but she hadn’t picked up the phone. Worry for his friend gnawed at Simon, but he had to trust that Clary could look out for herself. There was not much else he could do but trust.

What he did, though, was calling Raphael.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you that soon,” the vampire greeted him after he had taken Simon´s call.

“Camille´s been here,” Simon told him without greeting. If Raphael was human, he would have probably sucked in his breath in horror, but he wasn’t. There was just silence on the other end of the line.

“Raphael?” Simon asked hesitantly. “Are you still there?”

“Did she do something to you?” Raphael asked, his voice forceful but also underlined by worry.

“No, she didn’t,” Simon replied. “She put my mom and sister under some mind control, but she only wanted to talk to me. Relay a message from Valentine to Clary.” He sighed. “I just wanted to call you and tell you that I´m fine, before you hear anything else.”

“I´m coming,” Raphael stated.

“You don’t need to,” Simon objected, even though the thought that Raphael worried enough about him to come all the way from East Harlem made his stomach flutter. “I said I´m fine.”

“And yet I´m coming anyway,” Raphael replied. Before Simon could say anything else, the other boy had already hung up on him.

“Wow, super impolite,” Simon muttered to himself. He put his phone back in his pocket and just leaned back, head staring into the sky. Some moving lights indicated many of the planes on their way to either JFK or LaGuardia while the rest of the sky was filled with fixed stars. It was mind-boggling just thinking about that the light Simon was seeing was millions if not billions of years old and that most of the stars on the night sky had longed ceased to exist.

It just drove home the point how small and insignificant Earth and its inhabitants were in the grand scale of the universe. Simon sometimes wondered if there was any alien life out there or if it was just on Earth. Statistically speaking there should be other life forms out there, but ever since Simon knew that demons and angels existed he also wondered if they were just alien species so advanced that humanity had invented whole religions around them or if they were really of mythical origin. If the latter was true, then did God exist out there, too? And if God existed and had created humanity as image of Himself could aliens still exist then?

Simon was Jewish. It was an integral part of his identity, of who he was, and he was proud of it, even though it was difficult sometimes even in a city as liberal as New York. In a roundabout way he had always believed that there was a God but finding out that it (at least when it came to the angelic stuff) was realer than he had ever expected had forced him to revaluate things he had never questioned.

It was still an ongoing process.

He had asked Magnus once, if God existed, many years ago.

The Warlock had sighed heavily after Simon had finished the question, had shut his book close and put his whole attention on a young Simon.

“I know that demons exist,” he had started. “I know that angels dwell somewhere above us. I don´t know where the angels came from, I don´t know if there´s a heaven and I don´t know where our soul – our essence – goes once we die, but I know that if there really was a God, then he must be a cruel one, for he is indifferent to us and isn´t indifference the greatest cruelty you can punish your creations with?” He had looked so sorrowful, so desperate to believe his truth that Simon hadn’t pushed any further.

He had never asked Raphael, even though he knew that the vampire was still a devout catholic, even after all he had suffered through.

Simon was so deep in thought that he nearly missed Raphael arriving. The only thing announcing the sudden arrival of the vampire was a slight breeze before Raphael suddenly blurred into existence right next to him.

“ _Dios_ ,” he murmured and then he was already standing in front of Simon, looking him over as if he wanted to make really sure that Simon wasn’t harmed.

“I told you I was fine,” Simon tried to assuage him.

“I had to make sure,” Raphael replied, his forehead touching Simon´s. It was an intimate position, the way it exposed Raphael´s back to the world while he was shielding Simon with his body. He reached for Simon´s hands and he let him, feeling the cold pale skin touch his own. It wasn’t unpleasant, no, to Simon it felt like this was how it had always supposed to be.

“Let´s hope we don´t wake my mother or sister,” he whispered. “That would be a bit much to explain.” Raphael chuckled.

“What did Camille want?” he asked. Simon sighed and let go of Raphael.

“She just wanted me to relay a message from Valentine to Clary,” Simon told him, recounting to Raphael his whole encounter with his clan leader.

“I hate that I can´t protect you from her,” Raphael gritted out. “I hate that I feel so powerless.” And in a rare outburst of emotion he threw his fist against the nearest picket, splintering it in half.

“While your display of masculinity is appreciated, it´d be nice if you stop destroying our property, because I have to explain that to my mother,” Simon laughed. Raphael just looked sheepishly at him, an expression Simon would always cherish.

“I know you want to protect me,” he said. He stepped up to Raphael, took his hand into his and placed a kiss on his knuckles. “But sometimes you just can´t. I had to learn that with Clary who´s constantly off on some missions with Shadowhunters and you know how those turn out.”

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t want to protect her anyway,” Raphael pointed out.

“You´re right,” Simon agreed with him. “But I trust Clary. I trust her to come to me when she needs help. I trust her that she knows that I´ll always be there for her. I trust her that she knows what she can handle and what not. The only thing I ask of you is that you, too, trust me as I trust Clary.” He placed another kiss on Raphael´s hand. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I trust you,” Raphael confirmed.

Simon smiled at, well, what exactly was Raphael?

“Are you my boyfriend?” he asked dumbfounded.

“Where did this come from?” Raphael wanted to know, confusion written large on his face.

“I don´t know,” Simon replied. “I was just thinking about how I should refer about you in my mind. I mean, we told each other that we loved the other and we did kiss, but I really don´t know how you think about labelling.” He gasped. “Oh my God, is this our DTR talk? I´m not prepared for this.”

Raphael rubbed his temples, looking for all intent and purpose as if he was already regretting coming here. Only Simon managed to elicit such a wide range of emotion from the vampire.

“I´m over seventy years old, Simon,” he told Simon. “I really don´t care what you call me in your mind. I´m not some insecure teenager that hangs himself up on some labels.”

“Hey!” Simon exclaimed in mock-indignation.

“The only thing that matters to me is you.” Simon would have laughed at Raphael for saying something so cheesy, but the laugh got stuck in his throat when he noticed how deadly serious Raphael looked. This was a certainty to him, an unshakable truth and it equally terrified and exhilarated him. To receive such unconditional trust felt like the most precious thing he could hold in his hands, even though Simon was painfully aware of how fast it could be broken, destroyed or shattered.

“I feel the same about you,” Simon whispered. He bridged the gap between Raphael and him with one last step and then he was already pressing his lips on Raphael´s. It still felt like the first time, even though it wasn’t. Like a high he never wanted to come down, like an endorphin rush he never wanted to end. Raphael reciprocated the kiss with the same passion as Simon and he couldn’t help but moan when he could feel Raphael´s elongated fangs scrap over his lips, a shudder running down his spine.

Simon only let go because he needed to breathe, something Raphael didn’t need to do which Simon thought was pretty unfair.

“Do you want to come up in my room?” Simon asked. Uneasiness flittered over Raphael´s face.

“Simon…”

“Relax,” Simon calmed him down. “I know that you´re, like, a triple-A asexual. And we can talk about that when I´m not about to fall over in exhaustion from the long day I had. I just don´t want to be alone.” He sighed. “So, will you come?”

“Of course,” Raphael replied, looking more at ease.

They crept through the downstairs part of Simon´s home up into his room, careful to not make any noise that could wake up either his mom or sister. To be honest, Simon was the one who needed to watch out, because Raphael moved as silent and graceful as a cat while Simon was more like an elephant. When they did make it into his room, he closed the door with a quite click as it felt into its lock and turned around to watch Raphael who was mustering his room…

…which was full of all kinds of nerdy stuff. Little bobblehead figures from his favourite shows, movie posters that were plastered all over the wall. Autographs hanging over his desk and a whole shelf of comic books.

Simon really should have thought that through.

“It suits you,” Raphael commented with a grin on his face.

“Shut up!” Simon told him, as he rummaged through his drawers to find pyjamas that weren’t a total embarrassment to be seen in. That was a fruitless search, though, because Simon did not possess a single piece of clothing that didn’t have some pattern or graphic printed on it.

“Simon, I know that you´re sleeping in a Star Wars pyjama, you´ve told me often enough, so just put it on,” Raphael rolled his eyes.

“Sorry for trying to keep my dignity intact,” Simon retorted.

“That chance has long passed by,” Raphael needled him. Simon just flipped him the finger.

Grabbing aforementioned pyjama, Simon hauled himself to the bathroom and made himself ready for bed. When he came back into his room, Raphael was already lying on his bed. He had rid himself off his jacket and shoes and seeing the vampire lying in his bed with just a white shirt and black pants, completely unguarded and at ease at himself made Simon´s chest swill up with warmth.

“Scoot over,” he commanded Raphael as he slid under the covers (Game of Thrones, this time). When he had found a comfortable position to lay in, Raphael wrapped his arms around him from behind and pressed him against his chest.

“Thanks, you know,” Simon whispered. “For staying.”

“No problem,” Raphael assured him, his breath as he spoke ghosting over Simon´s neck.

Raphael´s presence was soothing. Knowing that there was someone watching over him while he slept would hopeful keep the nightmares away that Camille´s visit was surely inflicting on his presence. But it wasn’t only the defence mechanism; it was just the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He was in Raphael´s arms, the man he loved and who loved him back in return and it made Simon feel safe in ways that even his mother or Magnus never had. All living being craved contact, the knowledge that they were loved and wanted, and Simon could imagine nothing better than staying in Raphael´s arms, because it gave him all of that and more.

Maybe Raphael´s vampiric nature meant that he was cold all over, but Simon fell asleep with a heat burning in his chest that only came from him and the comfort he was providing Simon with.

This was what people meant when they were talking about love.

Simon feel asleep to the pressure of Raphael´s arms wrapped around him.

* * *

When Magnus opened the door, he was surprised to see who was waiting on the other side of it.

“Lucian,” he greeted the leader of the New York werewolf pack as he stepped aside to allow the man entry into his apartment. The detective just dipped his head at him – a gesture of respect, not of dismissal – and entered the entrance area.

Magnus closed the door behind him with a swirl of his hand, still trying to figure out why exactly the werewolf was here. It wasn’t as if they had no contact, but they weren’t really close friends either.

Magnus had first met Lucian when he had come to New York with Jocelyn and Clary, trying to make a life for himself. He had been Jocelyn´s silent and steady guard when she had come to him for the first time pleading for her help to hide them from Valentine and the Circle. Back then Magnus had had nothing but disdain for them – Valentine´s wife and his parabatai – but in the end he had helped her for Clary, for he did not punish children for the sins of their parents. And with time Jocelyn and Lucian had convinced him that their regret had been real and that they were trying to change.

Not that Lucian had had much choice back then, being a freshly bitten werewolf. Magnus had put him into contact with the then leader of the local pack and over the years Lucian had worked his way up the ranks until he had toppled the old alpha after his pack had turned against him, no longer willing to support his mad quest for more power.

Ever since then he saw Lucian every now and then when the leaders of the New York Downworlders met to discuss current events and pass judgement on criminals that didn’t warrant the Clave´s attention. It was a work relationship and nothing more.

Magnus led the alpha into one of his reception room and poured him a whiskey which the man took with a thankful nod.

“What is it that I may help you with?” Magnus asked as he sat down on the couch opposite of the one Lucian was sitting on.

“I came because I have no one else to turn to,” the detective replied evenly. “I know that there´s a lot going on with Clary, Simon and the Clave, but I feel like I´m standing on the side-lines when I could do more.” He rubbed his temples and suddenly the mask of the alpha leader had fallen and was instead replaced by a man who was just worried about the people he cared about. “I´ve talked to Clary a few times, but most of the time we just talk over the phone. I don´t know how she´s doing or even what she´s doing or if she´s even safe.” He sighed. “And Simon…that boy is like a son to me and Clary sent me a short message that he was back from the past, but I don´t know how he is doing either.” He leaned forward. “I know that you´re always in the know about what happens around here, so I´m asking you to tell me.” He cleared his throat. “Please.”

Magnus’ attitude thawed as he listened to Lucian speak. He couldn’t fault the man for caring for the people he loved. And if the situation was reversed, Magnus, too, would turn to anyone who could give him the information he sought.

“You don´t need to worry,” he assured Lucian. “Clary is growing into the person she was always meant to be: A strong, fierce and capable Shadowhunter. Her circumstances may be a little bit overwhelming to her at times, but she has people that support her. Her training is eating up a lot of her time, so don´t worry if she doesn’t come to you as often as you´d like. Simon isn’t seeing her as often as he used to, either. Speaking of Simon; yes, he is back, and he is fine. He´s currently with his family, but I´m sure he´ll seek you out once he has reconnected with them.”

“So, they aren´t in danger?“ Lucian asked.

“Part of being in this world is being in danger,” Magnus replied. “But as far as I know they aren´t in any more danger than you and I.”

“That isn’t really as comforting as you think it is,” Lucian spoke with a wry smile on his face.

“I guess you´re right,” Magnus shrugged. “But we can´t shield them forever. They´re old enough to face their challenges on their own. The only thing we can do is offer our support when they need it.”

Lucian sagged back. “I know.” He sighed. “It´s just so frustrating. Knowing that they have to fight the war that their parents started.”

“Nothing to be changed about that,” Magnus stated. “As much as we like to, though.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love <3


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